


Okay? Okay. Okay...

by Nina22783



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:52:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina22783/pseuds/Nina22783
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nearly four years since Lionel Messi and Cristiano Ronaldo have been together and a BBC journalist finally gets them both to tell the world how it all happened...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

*** _Interviewer: Come on Cristiano, Leo you know that all your fans are desperate to know how it happened. After all, the greatest sports rivalry in history turning into a love story doesn’t happen everyday. The two of you have been together for nearly 3 years now, married for almost 2, give us a little bit. How did it start? When did you stop hating each other enough to feel anything else?_ ***

 

It wasn’t as if they hadn’t been asked the same question nearly every moment since they’d come out as a couple nearly three years ago, after the last world cup in 2014. And now it was another world cup, another final and again…Lionel, found himself at the helm, facing -of all the teams- Germany. The feeling of _de' ja vu_ was palpable. All the stars aligning to give him one more chance to cement a legacy carved in legend, something he had always been too close to and for that very reason, seemed to have always eluded him.

All things considered, though, Cris had had a better season, La Liga and the other titles had mostly gone his way even if Leo got the World Cup final. It didn’t exactly even out but they both liked to pretend it did. The individual season, by a slim margin, had been Cris’ and Leo was part proud and part envious. It was the only way they knew how to be, had always been, they could never NOT compete. It was how they were… _built_. They just postured differently, Cris was all pomp, glamour and bravado while Leo hid behind his intensity. He was no less competitive, he just never knew how to express it except on the field. By now it was a natural setting. He had good games and other times his husband bested him and either way, it was still one of them at the top and the other holding his hand.

It finally worked but it had taken ages for them to get there. There had just been so many fights. So many times Cris stormed out on him…on _them_ , only to come back the next day, week …month. He never apologized either, it just wasn’t in him to do so. He made up for it in other ways, though. Cris, afterall, was the one who had no problem showing how he felt - both when he loved and when he hated someone. And Leo had experienced the overwhelming intensity of both ends of Cris' feelings directed at him. He just couldnt lose...ever. And to him, apologising to Leo somehow still meant that. Perhaps that would change in time but as much as Leo hated to admit it, the fact that Cris needed him enough to always find his way back was often enough to keep him going. Now it was all different, they were out in the open. The world had gone mad, when the news about them first came out 2 years ago. Everyone from their fans, to the media completely lost it. Speculating about how they would compromise the ‘integrity of the sport’, of what their managers and squads were thinking ‘letting them continue in this way’ of how they might ‘sell out…to each other, of all people’ and worst of all was all the gay bashing. The worst had been their fans, the sheer uproar over some sort of alleged betrayal to the sport.

Leo had come to realize, that most of his fans constructed him in opposition to Cris and vice versa. People just couldn’t seem to love them both together, because for so many of them their love for either Cris or Leo had been conditional on hating the other. Cris got the worse end of it all though, the media had always hounded him worse because of his confidence and the way he wore it, like armour. Many of them thought Ronaldo had seduced Messi with his flashing smile and cocky humour...part of which was true but Leo didn't even have it in him to feel insulted to being reduced that way. It was like when their fans used to post videos of who 'liked' kids more, because one or either of them forgot to shake someone's hand because they were distracted before a game ...it was ridiculous and neither of them had ever taken any of it seriously. The fans felt ‘betrayed’ and that hurt but it couldnt be helped. Cris would come home those days and lay his head in Leo's lap just trying to block out all the jeering. _'What really sucks is that I cant even fucking hate you for it anymore. Blame you for the crap they're putting me through',_ he once said to Leo, before smiling softly to ease the bite in his words. _"You really hated me for it?"_ Leo prodded, genuinely wounded because he had no control over what others said about them and he couldnt stand that Cris had held him responsible. _'Well ofcourse! I knew it wasnt your fault *technically* but that didnt change the fact that you were always compared to me and took it like a compliment! With your bullshit blushing and humble smile and then they moved on to how fucking fantastic you were...with me, they just stuck to whether or not I could ever measure up to you. Or was I trying too hard...as opposed to what, I ask you?! Not trying? And why was I such a Barbie doll and blah, blah, blah. I hated it and even if it wasnt your fault, they wouldnt have hounded me if it weren't for you."_  It eventually took Cris and Leo playing some of the best football of their lives. The best football that the world had ever seen, opposite each other, to prove to everyone and the media that no matter what they were doing at home and in bed, on the pitch they were still giants. No one could come close to either of them and no one could question their love for the game.

 

_“When I saw him lose the final on TV. Just standing there, frozen, beaten. I remember feeling more afraid than I ever had in my life.”_ Cris’ words broke through Leo’s reminiscing. He looked up at the quiet pain on his husbands face and felt his heartbeat quicken a little.

_“I would have assumed you would be relieved. You hadn’t won the cup, but neither had he. You were still on the same playing field,”_ the BBC interviewer asked.

_“I thought I’d feel relief as well. So did my friends when they offered me champagne and hugged me. But I’d never seen him like that, you see. No one knew how to read his face on a pitch better than I. And I had his - rather limited - range of facial expressions memorized…”_ Cris smirked at Leo, before continuing _“but this was different. He had lost, sure. It was a big loss, and he was always quiet and calm when he lost. But his face was always silently raging…gearing to prove everyone wrong come next game. I was used to that face. Honestly, I used to revel in it and relish the fact that I put it there most of the time. This one…this face, made me think for a moment that I might never see him on a pitch again. That scared the shit out of me. When he went to pick up that damned Golden Ball, he looked like he’d much rather smash the trophy to the ground. I was suddenly so scared because I didn’t know who I would be, as a player…in football, on a pitch…without him. As much as I thought I hated how the media always compared us, I suddenly knew why they did it. It made sense. He WAS my rival, he was the only one ... worth beating on a pitch. I knew in that moment, that part of why I was Cristiano Ronaldo was because of him. I was the greatest player …”_

Leo was struggling to control his emotions as he heard Cris tell him for the first time why he came banging on his door in Rosario four years ago…and of all the times and places, he had chosen to do it in a BBC studio for an audience of millions.

Trust Cris.

It didn’t help that he kept his gaze carefully locked on Leo most of the time as he said it. Leo didn’t know where to focus his own, slightely teary, eyes. His face was already turning red, as it always did no matter what he did when he could feel people looking at him. But he finally found an opening to weigh in and he scoffed affectionately and added _“surely you mean, one of the greatest players”_ and Cris made a face in his direction, lightening the mood and the intensity, before continuing _“…because I could beat Lionel Messi.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cris heads out to Rosario...

 25th July, 2014

Cris couldn’t really believe what he was doing and so he figured that at this point it was just best not to think at all and just keep moving. He was finally near the airport check out at Rosario and it had been a long, nerve-wracking flight to say the least. How on earth did he get here? What was he thinking? The barrage of questions kept pressing at him and he kept trying to shake them off just so he could keep moving.

 

It had been a day since the final. The world cup final that _HE_ should have been playing and winning but instead he found himself in his massive TV lounge, with Iker and Ramos jeering at Argentina and the ‘imp’ for nearly three hours before finally arriving at the screen-shot he was desperately waiting for. The close up of Messi’s crumpled, broken face.

Cris wasn’t really as much of a jerk as people always thought he was but frankly, when it came to this guy, he couldn’t really help himself. On the logical side of it, he understood the fact that none of their ‘rivalry’ had anything to do with the Argentine midget. He understood that the man was quite literally a borderline agoraphobe, shy and closeted and completely without hubris but he still couldn’t stand him. Couldn’t stand the fact that this perpetually nervous, little man was the giant wall that always stood between him and perfect glory. He never told his friends this but Cris had watched every documentary on his so-called ‘rival’, he used to tape and re-watch Barca games trying to discern and deny the evidence perpetually on display before him. It was no fluke: Messi was a genius. He was brilliant but Cris knew he was better. Still, Messi was the only one who had and ever would come close and he no longer denied that fact.

The match went into overtime and even Cris had to grudgingly admit that considering Germany was by far the better team, the little blue men had played their hearts out. At the last minute some German kid scored and it was all over. The guys went nuts, they opened champagne and clapped him on the back and Cris couldn’t understand why he felt so terrified. As if his entire world was hanging on a knife-edge.

Ironically, that knife-edge seemed to be Lionel Messi’s eyes.

 

Cris knew better than anyone that no player took losing ‘well’, and no matter how stone faced and calm Lionel Messi was when he lost he was still seething inside. Today, though, from across the world Messi’s face showed ‘defeat’ not ‘loss’. It seemed more permanent somehow and no one could say that he wasn’t displaying emotion today. He looked damned well dead. His shoulders sunk, his face fell a mile down and his eyes looked glassy.

Something in Cris snapped at that. No rival of his would ever look so damned broken, certainly not THAT stubborn little bastard. He was the most relentless force Cristiano knew existed on the planet. How fucking DARE he look like that, even if he lost the world cup! A part of him wanted to reach into the screen, grab Messi by the shoulders and shake him awake. Chris knew tears and he would have understood tears, hell, he would have been relieved if Messi had cried…it would have proven he was human and not a machine. But this, this face looked like the man thought he wasn’t worth being on a pitch. That scared Cris in a way he couldn’t admit to the guys clapping him on his back. He had heard of players who were never the same after a colossal loss. Who lost a bit of their magic to their disappointment.

What if Leo lost his?

The very idea pinched and bit at his skin. And as usual, his immediate concern was for himself. He needed Leo - he needed to beat him. It made him …what he was. There was no one else, he had demolished great players on the field Neymar, Zlatan and countless others but he always expected to do so. He would flay himself if he didn’t. Leo was the only one who made him feel like he had accomplished something when he won. Because he knew he had beaten the best. It was something…intrinsic…between the two of them. Oddly private and public at the same time. Public because the media picked up on it and sold it to millions but private because the emotional bond was there. They hated each other on that pitch BECAUSE they knew how good the other was. Every time they shared the pitch they both knew 'exactly' where the other one was...even though they pretended to concentrate on the game and the passing and the dribbling. There was a silent awareness, almost like skin memory of whether the other was close enough. Every time Cris had scored a goal against Barca and Leo hadn't been close by, he had actually felt vaguely disappointed. At their core they both loved football, which meant that on a very basic level they understood each other better than anyone else in the world.

 

Iker and Ramos left an hour later. _“I guess he’s just human after all,”_ Iker smiled in sad sort of relief before heading out. Cris understood that…Iker had personally lost to Leo more than most people on the planet and he knew the thing with goalies: they carried everything a little deeper…especially guilt and admiration. He knew that Iker had always harbored a little too much of both when it came to Leo. _“Barely even that, I stick with little flea,”_ Cris grinned at him, puffing up his chest even more to accompany the bravado and bite behind his words. Iker’s smile softened into a pout _“He’s not that bad you know. I hang out with Iniesta, those guys swear by Leo as family and not because of his fucking left foot”._ Cris snorted and waved goodbye. He had no patience for getting better acquainted with ‘Leo, the person’ when he had a hard enough time dealing with ‘Leo, the player’.

 

Later that night, Cris sat and watched the highlights of the match and Leo’s face stayed with him. His face getting that Golden Ball was even worse. Cris couldn’t even begrudge him the trophy because it was SO obviously clear he didn’t think he deserved it or wanted it. Then a panel came on and the first sentence out of the commentator’s mouth was ‘ _So, do we look at this as the beginning of the end for football’s greatest player? Messi the Messiah, certainly didn’t have Jesus on his side tonight, did he?...’_

That’s it.

Cris clicked off the TV and before he knew what he was doing he took out his phone and booked a flight to Argentina.Then he headed to his room and started packing a rucksack. He booked a taxi. It all happened too fast. He needed it to. He couldn't afford to really think about anything till he saw him. And suddenly, he needed to see him more than anything in the world. He needed to look into Lionel Messi's face and know that the man was alright, that he would get back up and be his annoyingly perfect little self soon in La Liga. Cris needed to know that his world still made sense. 

He didn’t know what he would find when he got there, maybe Leo would be with family. Maybe he’d be with his son. Maybe the _blaugrana_ squad would already be there picking him up and kissing him all better. Hell, maybe he’d find him curled up in a puddle of his own vomit…whatever. Cris had to know, had to fix this. For himself, more than anything else.

He knew where Leo lived in Rosario. Despite the internal backlash, Angel had been quite ‘open’ about his friendship and bond with little _el Capitano_. The _madridista_ Di Maria had attended lunches and babysat Thiago and done that whole, ridiculous ‘family’ routine the Barca team had down cold that no other team ever fully understood. Apparently, Leo had tried to replicate the same sentiment with his Argentinian boys before the World Cup. Male bonding and all that shit.

Cris always hated that it seemed to have worked.

Di Maria never sat through a single locker room conversation of the team making fun of ‘the flea’ ever again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo and Cris finally have a conversation...sure, it's about a sandwich but it's a start. 
> 
> (minor Jorge bashing...which might get worse in the future chapters. Sorry in advance, the plot demands it)

Trust Lionel Messi to live in this dump.

Cris couldn’t help but marvel at the sight when he arrived outside the Messi family’s old home, which Di Maria told him Leo now lived in and was ‘restoring’. Chris paid the cab driver who, luckily, seemed too stoned to realize who Ronaldo was or where he had brought him and the latter looked up at the freshly painted house. Rumor had it that Leo had apparently bought his mother a posh flat somewhere north in Rosario, his father … well, his father was plenty capable of taking whatever he needed, nearly everyone knew that Jorge Messi essentially viewed his son as a perpetual cash cow. The man allegedly owned vast property all around Argentina. Apparently Leo had given Antonella ownership of his apartment and a house in Argentina after their recent split shortly before the world cup. That news still hadn’t reached the press but Cris knew because it was already making the rounds among his close friends and other football players that the longest standing ‘relationship’ they knew of had finally come to a close. Leo now had sole custody of his son, Thiago.

Cris took a deep breath and rang the bell outside the gate of the small house, one he had seen several times in all the Messi documentaries he had secretly consumed. A surveillance camera turned towards him and that was what confirmed for Cris that all this was really happening. There was no way a house this shitty would have security cameras unless Leo was really staying here and suddenly Cris was nervous. He looked up cheekily into the camera and gave it a thumbs up sign, saying _“I really think you want to let me in Leo. You don’t want your neighbors wondering what the hell Cristiano Ronaldo is doing here, now do you?”_ There was minute of awkward emptiness before a small click on the side gate sounded and Cris walked in, rucksack in hand. He boldly approached the main door and knocked. No point in playing it timid now. It took a minute before the door opened and his eyes connected with Leo’s quiet, dark gaze.

Clearly, the man was still flustered at his being there but he seemed to have composed himself somewhat having been able to spot Cris on the security camera first. _“So, what the hell **are** you doing here?”_ Leo asked quietly, borrowing Chris’ earlier quip. Cris smiled, this wasn’t too bad. “ _Nothing, just thought I’d drop in and make sure you hadn’t drunk cyanide or something,”_ he said, smiling softly to cushion the words.

_“Why would that matter to you?”_ Leo whispered, eyes resolutely focused on Cris’ chest. Cris was used to Lionel Messi not meeting people’s eyes, it was a thing with him. He couldn’t really do so without turning beet red and collapsing into a nervous mulch most of the time. Cris usually found it incredibly annoying, contrived even. But in this moment, it was oddly endearing. Cris finally took the time to look at him properly. His hair was cropped shorter making him finally look like a man and not a boy. He was wearing black sweatpants and a slightly crumpled baby blue undershirt and he was barefoot. For a moment Cris found himself staring at that infamous left foot, pale and slightly scarred, with one slightly purpled stub toe. It certainly didn’t _look_ like the scariest thing on a pitch. Leo coughed lightly to get his attention and Cris took a deep breath before looking up and announcing _“Actually it would matter. Kicking your ass on the field happens to be one of my life’s great pleasures and I think I’d miss it if you decided to off yourself because of one bad game,”_ he boasted, hoping to get a rise out of the shorter man, anything was better than this suffocating sense of doom and gloom enveloping him.

_“…bad game? Bad game. That’s what you’d call losing a world cup final, carrying your country on your back!”_ Leo finally looked up and while his eyes certainly weren’t fiery, at least they were no longer dead.

_“Yes, actually. I would. It was a bad game because Germany won it not because you lost it. I would love to be the first to tell you that you played like shit but you didn’t. You couldn’t have helped anything that happened that day and you looking like you wanted to off yourself on that field after doesn’t help anyone…and that, for the record, is why I am here,”_ Cris countered in a rush. Leo was looking at his feet again. It was highly frustrating having any conversation with this man because he always gave so little.

_“Look. Cristianio. I really appreciate what it seems you’re trying to do and your coming all the way here…it…you didn’t have to do it. Thank you. But I really would rather be alone right now. If it helps, I promise you’ll get to ‘kick my ass’ again in La Liga, so you don’t need to be here.”_ Cristiano had never heard Leo Messi speak so quickly and even though he seemed to have gotten his point across and Leo seemed to have processed it, he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. He should. He should turn around and never look back and meet Messi on their next pitch only to clobber the little shit. But a whole new overwhelming curiosity now compelled him to keep pushing the matter.

“ _Sorry Leo, but I don’t think I can take your word for that just yet. Can I come in?”_ Cris asked.

Leo was visibly flustered but he was also desperately trying not to look it. He rubbed his hand on his neck and blinked rapidly before taking a deep breath and opening the door wider. Cris stepped into a tiny, narrow corridor and followed Leo to a small kitchen. The kitchen was actually kind of … _nice_. Spanish style, newly fitted and oozing with comforting smells, all granite and woodwork and colorful tiles. Not a single ounce of chrome. It was old-fashioned but in a good, comforting way. _“Can I get you anything to drink? Have you had lunch?”_ Leo asked, suddenly switching to host-mode.

_“Water would be nice, thanks. And no, I haven’t eaten,”_ Cris replied honestly. Leo raised his eyebrows slightly at that, saying _“Well, I was just going to make cubanos, nothing fancy, if that works.”_ Cris was utterly unwilling to admit that he had no idea what ‘cubanos’ were, so he just nodded. Leo cooked in silence, which was the way he did nearly everything but it was still fascinating to watch. Cris observed him move about naturally in the kitchen, chopping vegetables at lightening speed and carving bread and meat for what seemed to be a very elaborate sandwich. He made sauces…in a pan, rather than taking one out of the fridge.

And suddenly Cris, found himself laughing.

Leo turned around at the sound of the most un-manly giggles and stared curiously at Cristiano Ronaldo, sitting on a barstool in his kitchen laughing his ass off.

This really was a nightmare.

_“What?!”_ he barked, suddenly annoyed at the man’s rudeness. _“Sorry, it’s just. It’s like I suddenly realized that Lionel_ fucking _Messi was making me lunch and not only making lunch but also actually cooking. Who knew you cooked?!”_ he coughed out between laughs. Leo almost cracked a smile at that. _“I’ve always cooked. One of my neighbors… actually Dina lives three houses down from this house, sort of babysat me as a kid when my mother would be at the hospital for her shift. She taught me to cook back then because she hated me dribbling a ball in the house and I was too restless to do anything else so I would help in the kitchen. The habit sort of stuck. It still is one of the few things that calms me down,”_ Leo said in his soft Argentinian drawl.

It was the first ‘conversation’ they’d ever had and it was oddly comfortable.

Leo put the cubano on a plate, all decorated with salad and guacamole and salsa, professional-like and pushed it towards Cristiano. Cris laughed softly _“This looks good Chef”_ and took a bite. It was good. It was more than good, it was bloody beautiful but Cris kept his expression collected as Leo smiled at him, scrutinizing his reactions for a tell. _“Not bad…for an amateur, I mean,”_ Cris said between mouthfuls and Leo just smiled and looked down at his own plate.

Suddenly, there was a sound of a low wail from a speaker somewhere in the house and Cris immediately turned towards the sound. He turned back and looked at Leo, who sighed and left the room without saying a word. Cris just sat there a little frozen and frankly, feeling a little slighted. He wasn’t really used to being around anyone this…damned quiet. He kept munching on his sandwich until he heard the soft patter of Leo’s bare feet on the kitchen tiles behind him.Leo soon emerged with his son clutched in his arms.

Thiago Messi, was rubbing his chubby little fist against his eyes, obviously still trying to dispel the sleepiness in them. Leo was cooing in his ear and asking random questions like… _“How can you be up already, you barely slept for 2 hours nene?”_ and _“Let’s warm you some of this milk, yes?”_ followed by _“Then we can watch some TV, okay?”_ …all the while Leo was opening cupboards and taking out a bottle, washing it and pouring milk from the fridge. He then popped the bottle in the microwave. _"You know he can't understand you right?"_ Cristiano laughed, trying to break the sheer compelling intimacy of the moment. He realised it was rude but he needed to do it. Something about watching Leo in dad-mode was screwing with his composure. He felt something unfamiliar in his solar plexus, a feeling of resentment he didn't know he had harbored for so long, loosen. Something unclenched inside of him at the image of Messi murmuring in his son's ear and that unclenching led to a rush of a completely different set of feelings. Cris simply refused to acknowledge those.

Leo slowly turned to Cris. _‘'Thiago, this is Cristiano Ronaldo. Cris, my son,”_ he said with a soft smile. Leo chose to ignore Cris' playful jibe. Such a formal introduction and so absurd that for a moment Cris felt compelled to shake the baby’s hand and say ‘pleased to meet you, sir’. The thought made Cris grin. Thiago was staring at him, eyes wide as saucers, still seemingly trying to gauge why Cris wasn’t one of the other _blaugranas_ surely or…Kun Aguero. Cristiano suddenly got up from his stool and sauntered across the counter to Leo and his son. Holding his hands out to Thiago, who was weighing him with a steady, curious gaze.

_“Come on, little man, us madridistas, we don’t bite,”_ he said with a smile and he heard Leo snort a laugh. _“Excuse me but that’s true, don’t make me remind you which team just signed the worlds most famous human carnivore,”_ Cris shot in Leo’s direction and to his credit, the Argentine offered an embarrassed laugh and looked inquiringly down at his son in an attempt at dodging the question. _“Oh come on, Thiago, I know the height difference is scaring you. The air is much lighter up here where I stand but you’ll enjoy it,”_ he looked at Leo as he said it and Messi just rolled his eyes. _“Yes, like I haven’t heard that one before,”_ he whispered. _“Never deny the facts,”_ Cris laughed.

Suddenly the baby shifted and Cris held him expertly close. It had been a long time since he’d held a baby, Christianino Jr was older now and he missed the feeling. Mostly, he missed the smell…and he suddenly buried his nose in Thiago’s cheek talking to him in indiscernible Portuguese.

 

*********************

 

Leo stared at his 'rival' caressing his son.

It was a weird feeling. Far too intimate, for this unexpected, unwarranted, _uncomfortable_ evening. Leo found it so odd to find Ronaldo here, eating with him, trying to make jokes and pretend they were friends…or _whatever_. He understood why Cris had done it, surprising thought it was. It was incredibly kind and frankly, way beyond the call of convention for the two of them.

Usually Cristiano did his best to pretend Leo didn’t exist and Leo did his best to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist so it all worked out to help them avoid each other quite well. But this really wasn’t the time for the rivals to bond. Leo had always felt vulnerable. He had never known anything else, always being the smallest had made him insular very early on in his childhood. But he had never felt as vulnerable as he did right now. Like exposed skin, a raw nerve.

He didn’t really trust anyone…people were incredibly unkind when they wanted to be, even if they loved you on the face of it. And while he was always grateful to his fans for their love, and his family for their support, he was also always uncomfortable because of such love. He could never bask in the glory of being Leo Messi, the way Cristiano basked in his. Leo, took all of it…the money, the attention, the media, the fans, the crowds and the scrutiny as the cost of playing football. He loved football enough to deal with all the rest. On some level he knew that there was so much to be grateful for and he was, profoundly so, but Leo only ever really felt guilt for his success. He never learned how to cope with everyone in the world thinking they knew who he was.

But winning a world cup was one of his own dreams.

It wasn’t something that his success had put on him or something that his fame had brought his way as a side-perk. It was how he had started at 6 years old. Wanting to play for Argentina and wanting to win a cup and now it was over. Sure, there was 2018 and another chance but in his heart Leo had doubts the fates would ever align again the way they had two days ago. They had made it to the final, the final 2 minutes of the final overtime, no less.

How often does that happen?

Could he even dare hope, it would happen again.

He needed time and solitude to process that. He wanted to wallow. Read books, cook in his pajamas and play with his son and not see the world for at least a week. Everyone had already understood that. He had received nearly 100 texts from family and friends and he had told everyone of them that he wanted some time alone. His mother had offered to take Thiago but he had refused, saying that Thiago was the only one keeping him functional. He had come close to calling Kun or Cesc a couple of times but he feared the platitudes they would offer, the sympathy. Well intentioned though it would be.

And now, here, of all people in the world…was Cristiano Ronaldo. The one person in the world he couldn’t break down or wallow or crack in front of. Leo glanced at the rucksack on the floor and sighed. And it looked like he was here for the night.

_“What are you doing?”_ he asked Cris, interrupting this cooing and bonding session. Somehow irked by the image of Cristiano Ronaldo so effortlessly gaining Thiago’s trust, when it had taken Xavi nearly two weeks to convince Thiago just to hold his hand. _“Sorry, I just miss this. I miss the baby smell, you know? Nino is too big now,”_ Cris smiled his way.

And Leo felt his heart dip uncomfortably and his stomach twist sideways at the receiving end of that smile.

 

_It was probably the cubano…all that butter never really did sit well with him._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay with this one. The story should definitely move quicker now...:)  
> As always comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.

_“You resent me being here, don’t you?”_ Cristiano asked him later that evening.

Leo was sitting quietly beside him and they were watching television. The pair had argued for nearly an hour over whether they should watch football, play Fifa or just watch TV. In the end, Cristiano had absolutely insisted that Messi needed some drastic schooling in television content. The man hadn’t ever watched a television series, only ever followed the news or football and apparently read books, long ones. _“That is purely unacceptable. Are you telling me you don’t know what ‘Game of Thrones’ is?!”_ Cristiano had asked him, shocked to his core. _“Game of **what**?”_ Leo responded. _“Well to be fair, I haven’t seen it either but Sergio and Iker have been pestering me about it and I have at least heard about it. Hey, maybe you really ARE from another planet like they all say?”_ Cris smirked at him, raising an inquisitive eyebrow in his direction. Leo just rolled his eyes at him. _“Fine, you want to watch this Game thing, I’ll upload it,”_ he said. Cris laughed softly, knowing Messi, he probably thought Game of Thrones was a La Liga/ Copa del Ray compilation!

It had been three hours and both of them found themselves glued to the gore and guts that followed after Ned Stark’s head spilled onto the screen. Both of them had raged at the TV together and consoled each other and kept watching. Thiago, it appeared, could sleep through anything when he chose to. Cris was still trying to ignore the weird, squishy feeling coursing through him as he stole sidelong glances at the baby curled onto Leo’s chest. Leo’s chin tucked softly over his head and his pale hands rubbing the little boy’s back…it was… _adorable_. There was just no other word for it and Cristiano was trying desperately to quell the feelings he was experiencing because of it.

Leo had just returned to the TV lounge after putting Thiago in his crib. He slipped into the sofa and was about to un-pause episode 3 of the second season, when Cris asked him if he resented his presence. Leo thought about it for a minute and turned his face to Cris before softly saying _“Not as much as I did a few hours ago.”_

Well, that was…honest, Chris thought to himself. Of course the man resented him being here, he had sort of just barged in on his convalescence. And no one knew better than Cris how important wallowing was after a huge loss. He knew that he wouldn’t have been nearly half as understanding if the roles were reversed. Hell, Leo would never have made it past the front door at Cris’ mansion.

Cris glanced over at him in the dim light, bluish glow cast from the television in a dark room shadowing and illuminating his face at the same time. By no means was Lionel Messi a handsome man; his eyes were too close together and his nose and ears disproportionately big. But there was something soft about him…naïve and kind. Kind, in a way, that didn’t need to translate to action like with everyone else. It was almost as if, just seeing the man blush, and smile and shy away from nearly everything but a football pitch made everyone else feel oddly protective of him. Cris remembered something that Di Maria and Higuain had once said to him when he had casually questioned them about Messi. _“It’s hard to explain it. Everyone knows that in football, he’s the last man that needs our protection or anything from us really. But off the pitch, I don’t think there’s a person alive who can meet Leo and not like him. Leo’s just soft…in the best way, quiet, kind, funny in a goofy-little-brother sort of sense. He’s hard too, no one ever knows what he’s thinking or feeling so that part of him is stone solid. He’s no longer 17 but we all still treat him like he is, ruffling his hair, picking him up and he never seems to mind. That’s what it is. You meet him and some part of you will always want to protect him…it’s weird.”_ At the time, Cris had hated hearing that, a confirmation of his weirdest fears…that Leo was actually just better than him, in every sense of the word. In his heart, Cris knew he was a genius on the pitch and to hear he was genuine to top it off, was …annoying. A part of him had wanted them to tell him that all of it was an act and that in truth; the _pulga_ was just selfish as the rest of them. But he finally understood it.

It was clear that Leo was holding himself together by a thread and it was clearer that he was doing so because he didn’t want to collapse in front of Cris, of all people. Now that Cris had asked him that, he had brought it up all over again, and he couldn’t help it. He found himself suddenly wanting, desperately, to be the one Leo opened up to about this loss. To hold him through it, even to save him. It was NOT a feeling Cris had ever even remotely considered associating with Lionel Messi but it was there, full and freely flowing. He looked closely at the smaller man, his hands clutched tightly against a plastic water bottle and his face tight, a nerve ticking in his jaw and his eyes concentrating on the paused screen…nearly trying to penetrate into the plot, anything to keep from remembering why all of this was happening.

Cris moved closer to him and even though he knew Leo was aware of the movement on the couch, the man kept still. Cris noticed a slight trembling in Leo’s hands and his heart went out to him. Suddenly, all he wanted in the world was to make this easier for Leo. In that moment it wasn’t about rivalry or football or anything really, it was just pure empathy. Cris peered into Leo’s face and his eyes focused on a tiny little scar at the edge of his chin, below his bottom lip. It was softly puckered and protruding out of the rest of the skin but not noticeable unless from a small distance. Cris suddenly found himself running his fingers over it, his left thumb softly grazing over the pink flesh.

Leo finally met his eyes, a question burning in them, swallowing loudly.

 _“This is mine, isn’t it?”_ Cris asked softly, barely a whisper.

 _“What?”_ Leo breathed, their faces close.

 _“El Classico 2012, I tackled you and I remember you falling and clutching your jaw but you got up too quickly. That made me think you might have actually gotten hurt and not wanted anyone to know. It’s what I’d have done,”_ Cris answered.

 

 

Leo didn’t say anything. There was really nothing to say to that; how Cris knew or the fact that he even remembered was odd. Everything about this situation was odd. The fact that Cristiano bloody Ronaldo was sitting so close to him on his sofa, his knee rubbing against Leo’s thigh, turned towards him, holding his face and touching his scars. Ronaldo whispering ‘This is mine’, what the fuck did that mean?! What now, he needed ownership of Leo’s skin too…the thought was so conversely frustrating and arousing that Leo didn’t know how to sidestep it any more.

The sexual energy in the room had been building for hours, each of them was just far too aware of the other’s movements, breathing… distance. Leo wasn’t completely clueless, he knew where this might end up and even though the thought excited and terrified him in equal measure, he didn’t really know how to process it. Yes, it would be amazing to fuck away his feelings of loss and pain right now and by every stretch of the imagination, fucking Cristiano Ronaldo would be like a fantasy…I mean, one just had to _look_ at the man. Leo wasn’t gay but he had been with men, a few. Personally, he had never really found it too different from being with women. For Leo, sex was always about a person…he needed to be able to laugh with someone, know them enough that they didn’t make him nervous before he could even converse with them let alone have sex.

But this was Cristiano Ronaldo, everyone in the world knew that for Ronaldo, sex was about…sex and there was lots and lots of it. Leo knew himself far too well, to be comfortable with that equation. He needed to find meaning in everything he did and he was terrified of the idea of being some kind of kinky/enemy sex/ conquest notch for the madridista currently setting his skin on fire just with the way he was looking him.

 

 _“I knew it was mine,”_ Cris whispered against Leo’s mouth before his lips descended upon his.

And in that moment, there was no meaning left in the world for Leo to search for.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, here you have it. Quite smutty, as it should be :)

Cris did feel guilty. Almost as if there was a slight knocking in his chest and he couldn’t help but feel it no matter how hard he tried to focus on the film playing on the flight, something about aliens living among humans. He had run out of Rosario virtually at break neck speed, kipped in a stiff chair and slept for an hour at the airport and was currently headed back home. Everything had just gotten to be too much. Too much feeling, too much conflict, too much of … _him_.

Cris found himself waking that morning to a soft brush of hair against his chin. He stirred and his bleary eyes finally focused on the form fitted against him, loose and languid and practically stuck to him in deep sleep. Leo’s face was pressed into Cris’ chest and soft puffs of his breathing were raising the tiny hairs on Cris’ collarbone. His cropped hair tickling Cris’ chin and Leo’s legs tangled sideways between his own. Cris edged slightly away from his rival, and raised his head off the bed to take his fill of what Lionel Messi looked like in his sleep. He was calm, that was one thing…the perpetual crinkle between his eyebrows was smooth and placid. His lips were slightly open and he was softly curled in on himself, breathing deeply. Cris couldn’t really remember ever being so moved by a sight…and simultaneously terrified. All the things he’d heard about Lionel Messi congregated in that moment to form a new persona. He recalled the night before, and even the memory of it had his palms getting clammy and his throat constricting. His heart was suddenly racing.

Cris looked down at Leo again, it seemed rather impossible that of all the people in the world to make Cristiano Ronaldo collapse in on himself, this was the man. That this small, pale, awkward Argentine could make his body sing the way he did. Cris sort of prided himself on his sexual prowess and that wasn’t exactly a secret. He was so confident in himself that sex was often the headiest kind of game he played. Dominant and demanding, Cris had always taken what he wanted and usually the other party had been too preoccupied with him, his looks, his reputation or his money, to notice. He wasn’t really known for ‘feeling’ things in this department. Cris really only had deep, squishy feelings for two things: Football and Nino, occasionally his mother. Even with Irina, they both had spent three years getting off on each other’s unattainability and beauty. The fact that they ‘looked’ so perfect together. Sex had been hot and that was all Cris really ever needed it to be. He wasn’t the monogamous sort. Never claimed to be and he never really sought out that sentiment in others. If anything, he always ran in the opposite direction whenever he encountered it.

Last night was undeniably different. Leo had made him feel things he hadn’t since he was in high school when ‘feelings’ were not yet politically incorrect. In the cold light of day, Cris woke up to find himself picturing spending time with the other man. Talking, laughing, playing football, cooking for the kids, making lo-…fucking. The image was just too clear, uncomfortably so and Cris found an overwhelming want course through him. He couldn’t admit it to himself out loud yet but he wanted this man, and he was sure that at some point last night he had said as much. Normally, he would put it down to passion and so would Leo, he hoped. The problem was that they both knew it was different. Leo had seemed determined to slowly coax responses from Cris in bed, which he had never been prepared to give.

It was all just so, so wrong. This was Lionel Messi in bed next to him. Lionel Messi was the bane of his existence, the man never let up on the pitch and the press never let up on his impact on Cris’ life. He was small, stupid and suspiciously nice and Cris was… _none_ of those things. His mind was racing, trying to conjure up all the negativity he had harbored for the little _blaugrana_ until just 24 hours ago and it seemed nearly impossible to do so now. How had one night turned everything on its head?

Leo chose that very moment to burrow back into his bare chest, seeking the warmth of Cris’ body and Cris’ mind was flooded with an entirely new set of images. He remembered that kiss, he had meant it to be seductive and alluring but somewhere between his lips latching on to Leo’s top lip and Leo actually responding, the kiss became a promise. A promise of things to come. A perverse sort of gateway to something he didn’t quite know how to deal with yet. He wanted to fuck the man, he knew that without a doubt, his straining cock and the sheer anticipation of the last few hours had clarified that but the kiss was…surprising. He didn’t feel in control of it like he had meant to. He had meant to placate and seduce but instead he felt…overwhelmed, drowning. Leo had raised his hands to Cris’ face and pulled at the base of his neck all the while their tongues tangled in a glorious sort of dance. Leo’s tongue tracing his teeth, his hands pulling at the skin behind his ear. Cris nearly lost all control when Leo broke for breath and immediately redirected his lips to his ear, licking the shell with the tip of his tongue and softly sucking on the earlobe. Cris heard himself making an embarrassing keening sort of noise, his hands trembling as they tried to trace every inch of Leo’s skin and clutched at his clothes. They rutted against each other like pre-pubescent teenagers on the couch. Both hard. Both beyond rational thought. Both crazy with want.

Somewhere along the line they began to move towards the bedroom, still clutching at each other, pushing and pulling, pressing and posturing… all the way up the small flight of stairs. They stopped to kiss nearly 4 times, after every few steps when it seemed the distance between their bodies had grown intolerable and slammed on to the foot of the bed in Leo’s room in a heap of groping hands and seeking lips. Their shirts discarded along the stairs and their skin flushed with excitement and lack of oxygen. Cris had been the first to let go of Leo, his hands reaching immediately to undo the button of his jeans. But the Argentine softly laid his hands on his and stopped him. Cris just looked on in wonder as Lionel Messi undid his pants, all the while staring into his glazed eyes. It was all achingly slow and once Cris stepped out of his jeans Leo quickly stripped out of his own sweat pants. He wore no briefs and Cris’ eyes immediately latched on to his cock. Straining and hard, already coated with pre-cum. They both stared at each other for a long time, long enough for it to allow them to focus on the sound of each other's ragged breathing. Chris' gaze travelled over the slender build of his 'rival', his pale body, built and honed to give the illusion of strength but still so breakable. Sloping shoulders and well defined abs, all coated with soft matted hair. In contrast Cris was all sharp angles and overt power. Tanned and built for show and showmanship.

Cris swallowed hard and reached for him but Messi just casually pushed his hand away. For a moment he was confused until he felt Leo’ kiss and lick his way along Cris’ collar bone downwards towards his pelvis. All the while Leo was softly tracing every contour of Cris’ body. It was ridiculously intimate, made all the more so by the way Leo kept looking at him. His gaze deep and quiet, yet burning at the same time. That gaze had him transfixed and Cris felt as if he almost couldn’t move. It was  as if Leo had frozen him in place, ironically, by using Cris’ own body against him. Each reaction he elicited, screamed in his mind. And then when Leo finally spoke, he whispered softly, _“So I guess, this one is mine then.”_

Cristiano almost felt his heart stall at the way Leo was staring at the thin, long scar above his knee, in the middle of his thigh. He was right, it was his, it was from another Classico, one that seemed to be from a lifetime ago. When Leo was a kid and seemed so easy to dismiss. They both had been chasing the same ball and Leo had made away with it at lightening speed leaving Cris in the dust tripping on himself. Somewhere along the line a boot had scraped his leg but what Cris remembered from that match more than anything was the first time he was left awestruck by another striker. That was usually his job.

Currently that striker was bent on the floor, crouching between Cris’ legs and slowly sticking his tongue out licking the length of ‘his’ scar. The act was so…personal, so primal, like a branding. Cris had done it to Leo as a sort of challenge but the return policy on the gesture had been a little shaky. _This_ , this was too much to take. Cris closed his eyes tightly against the sensation of Leo kissing him caressing his thighs and his trembling, traitorous knee. Leo softly pressed his palm over the knee in question, and Cris audibly sucked in his breath. _“You know, you really shouldn’t have played with this. I know why you did it but …”_ Cris didn’t respond, he couldn’t. And then Leo bent even lower and kissed the inside of his knee and Cris couldn’t control the tears building up at the back of his eyes from spilling over. This was…just too intense. Not at all what he was used to! Not only was Leo making Cris weak, he was staring perceptibly at his weaknesses and...kissing them! Leo looked up at him barely keeping his tears in check and he didn’t focus on the moment of weakness too long before his lips moved towards Cris’ straining cock, pushing up his silk briefs uncomfortably. Leo blew softly upon the damp fabric and Cris groaned at the sensation before Leo’s mouth latched on to the head of his cock through the fabric. Leo’s hot mouth over his cock, and the friction of the fabric in between had Cris clutching at the door frame of the room for support. He was writhing in pleasure and agony at the same time.

He needed more. And suddenly Cris was clutching at Leo’s shoulders and pulling him up, desperately seeking his mouth. Burying his hands in the shorter man’s hair and pulling him against him. Leo took no time in pushing down Cris’ brief’s, grinding against him and trying to stroke both their cocks with his hands. Cristiano was straining so hard to control his reactions and reign in his feelings that he quickly stopped Leo’s hand from working up a rhythm.

 _“No. Not that, I need you. I need to be inside you, now. Please Leo,”_ he was panting, barely breathing and begging with his eyes. Leo looked at his face, both hands, holding each side and buried his face into his neck kissing and sucking his way to his ear, before softly whispering _“I need you too. Take me.”_ Everything after that was a blur of memory and magic. Cris barely even made it to the bed, just lifted Messi off his feet and against the door, he had previously sought support against. His strong hands gripped Leo’s thighs tightly and the smaller man wrapped his legs around his waist, joining their foreheads together and gazing deep into Cris' eyes. Leo was already wet, pre-cum slick and moist coated his crotch and Cris only scizzored his fingers into his entrance a couple of times before pushing himself in.

It was Leo’s soft whimper and the rising flush along his neck and face that stayed with Cris. The image would last well and beyond that encounter and a part of Cris knew he would never forget the way Lionel Messi looked as he pushed his way in deeper and deeper building up a rhythm until they both came crashing down. The pair of them were shuddering and yelping, burying their faces in each others necks and whispering all sorts of lofty declarations of need, want and beauty that two rivals who had barely even met before today, had no business directing at each other. When he caught his breath back, Cris carried Leo over to the bed and tucked him under his chin. He was still inside him and Leo made no move to disconnect their conjoined bodies. The smaller man simply wound his arms and legs around Cris loosely and breathed into his collar bone until he fell asleep.

 

\----------------

 

 

The morning rays hit Leo with a simultaneous bitterness and clarity. He woke up leaning towards the warmth he had sought through the night only to find his bed empty. That was when he opened his eyes. For a few moments, Leo lay still replaying last night in his head and smiling softly at the memory of how glorious it had been. As the minutes ticked by, a deep awareness set in, awareness that the bathroom door was open so Cristiano was clearly not inside. Leo moved off the bed and made his way downstairs to check if he was in the kitchen. Instead he found that their bread trail of discarded clothing had been cleared away. Cris’ backpack was gone.

 

Leo suddenly knew without a doubt that he had been used. He felt it and he felt it deeply, as he did all things. That no matter what last night had been and no matter why Cris had come here, he had left without a word or a gesture. Leo's worst fears had just been realized and he recognised with a sinking feeling that he had just let himself become a notch on his rival’s bedpost. A slow, sour sense of self loathing prickled its way into his skin and Leo knew that this was even worse than losing the world cup. At least that humiliation hadn’t been his alone and not all of it was his own fault.

 _This,_ no this was all him. He deserved this feeling. And he vowed to feel it fully, the shame, the sense of loss and agonizing embarrassment at giving himself so freely, so fully to a virtual stranger. Of opening up and laughing with the man. Of whispering secrets and promises. He felt it all.

And vowed to never feel it again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a filler chapter before the next one. Which, I promise, I will try and put up very soon.   
> Thank you all so much for you the comments and kudos.

3 months later… 

The new La Liga season seemed to have turned everything on its head for Cris. In one way, it was all rather fantastic…he was flying. Scoring goals left, right and center but in another there was a gaping hole where his competition used to be. He had been right to be scared when he barged in on Messi that day demanding that he recover his flailing sense of self as soon as possible. He just never imagined the way in which Leo would choose to do it. 

Sure, the man was still magic on a pitch but what striker in the history of football ever approaches their coach ‘requesting’ to be put in the middle, playing on assists and backbone rather than the final flourish of goal scoring? In any event, the little man’s entire game had shifted spectrum – what was annoying was that it was still excellent. It appeared Messi could play striker, mid-field and even defender when the need arose. He scored a few token goals but it almost seemed as if he was purposely avoiding any possible comparisons to Cris in the scoring department.   
The press had picked up on it and rolled with all the ‘greatest’ talk all over again for a while but a month in and nearly everyone only ever remembered Cris’ name when anyone raised the subject anymore. He thought he’d be relieved but if anything it made him seethe. He wanted to hound the press demanding that they –in turn- pressure Messi to return to form. But no, everyone jumped on the bandwagon of how self-effacing he was being. ‘Team player’, ‘backbone’…Cris hated all of it. Everyone speaking of Leo like he was no longer there…no longer relevant. It was almost like he was doing it on purpose, like he’d chosen an entirely new way of getting under Chris’ skin. Anything to avoid being in the spotlight. Messi had always been stupid like that, he had always assumed that just because he was avoiding the press, they would somehow return the favour. If anything, now his entire repertoire as ‘Messiah’ was being cemented further. 

What was really eating at Cris was the fact the Leo seemed to find it just as easy as before to pretend that he didn’t exist. He was still as gracious in his comments to the press about ‘Ronaldo’s records’. “He is a genius. He deserves it because he works so hard” blah, blah, blah…

It had taken Cris a week after he left Rosario to realize that he had probably made one of the biggest mistakes of his life but it took him another month to admit he wanted to do something about it. He had never anticipated how much the little shit would haunt him. It was almost as if ‘the pulga’ had assumed the role of his own personal poltergeist. Every waking thought seemed to drift towards him… would they meet on the pitch? Would Leo finally look at him? How could he say he was sorry? 

Cris found himself obsessively cyber stalking Messi’s instagram page, the FC Barcelona website …anything for information on him, pictures and status updates. In his weaker moments he resigned himself to jerking off to an embarrassingly large collage of messi’s pictures on his phone and computer. Trying to remember how Leo’s hands had felt on his skin, how his lips had felt on his. He was watching every possible interview trying to recall the same voice whispering endearments in his ear that day. It was getting to be unbearable and Cris was just SO unused to it all. He NEVER chased after anyone, stalking wasn’t his M.O., if anything he was always the stalk-ee. And yet, even he didn’t have any other word for what he was doing. He was obsessed and nothing, no amount of sex or physical contact had minimized his need for the little Argentine. He had tried to fuck the man out of his system…but no matter what or…who, he tried- men or women, he ended up looking for something that reminded him of Leo. Sex was suddenly limiting after what he had experienced in that house in Rosario with a man who he feared would never look him in the eye again. 

He was embarrassed to admit it but Cris had even flown into Barcelona a few times. Trying to gear up his courage to talk to him but Messi was nearly always surrounded by his teammates. He ran in the mornings, at the stadium and then left Camp Neau after training. Cris began to develop a particular loathing for Neymar, just because of how often he found that idiot trailing after, beside or with Leo. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, laughing. It made him want to push the little bleach-blonde shit into the ground. Pique he could understand, Fabregas too…those two had practically grown up with Leo. Then there was Aguero…he hadn’t really had the chance to observe that particular ‘best friend-ship’ and he feared he didn’t want to.   
Each time Cris was in Barca he trailed after Leo in his car, tinted windows keeping him in the shadows, watching the Argentine pick Thiago up from kindergarten, chatting away with him at his house and generally just spending his days in-doors. Cris tried calling a few times but hung up the moment he heard Leo’s breathy greeting on the other end. One time he managed to croak out ‘Leo? It’s Cris…look I’ . That time Leo had hung up.   
Cris didn’t fly in or call again. 

Cris had encountered Leo three times on the pitch in the last 3 months, each time Madrid had lost and each time they had lost pretty much specifically to Leo. Sure, Leo seemed to content to pass around the ball every 9 out of 10 times to that oaf Neymar or the new vampire but even he wasn’t self-sacrificing enough to take a backseat during classico. Leo basically ran circles around him and no matter what Cris did at first he couldn’t help but feel like it was revenge. That wasn’t really Leo’s method though, and by the third classico nearly everyone was genuinely afraid of him. He had scored a hatric in the first, 2 goals in the second coupled with 3 assists and the third had been a whopper 4 goals and 1 assist. Madrid had lost 6-2 and Leo had still not looked up when Cris shook his hand. What genuinely hurt though, was how damned polite he had been, if only their eyes had met. Cris would have preferred rage, resentment…anything to tell him that Leo had cared enough but all that remained was stoic fucking politeness. 

Every time Cris met him in line, he squeezed his hand hard hoping to get a reaction but none ever came. By the third match, Cris had checked and tripped him up because his own rage at being dismissed and ignored and …defeated was bubbling up and out of every single pore. Each time Leo just got up, stone faced and ended up scoring to slap his attempts down. They found themselves waiting for the ball in a corner in the last 19 minutes and Cris had approached him, suddenly not giving a damn about the cameras. “Leo, fuck…can you at least look at me?” Cris had whispered a morbid combination of exasperation, desperation and awe. “I’m trying to keep my eye on the ball. You should do the same,” he whispered back. 

Nothing…not a single thread in his voice that Cris could latch on to for hope.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance for all the Jorge bashing, the plot sort of demanded it.  
> This chapter is mostly a chance to get to know the rest of the team with relation to Leo. Especially Kun, who is one of my favourites. 
> 
> Thank you all SO much for the comments and appreciation. As always comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.

It had been a few weeks since their last encounter. Cris was still struggling with the fact that, for the first time, since he could remember, he felt helpless. He had no idea how to approach Leo anymore and was in the process of resigning himself to the crushing loneliness he was feeling when an odd opening presented itself.

Messi’s father, Jorge Messi, was reported to have died yesterday of a sudden heart attack. The news was raging with the story about footballers and other members of the sports community pouring in with their commiserations for the Messi family. Many footballers were also attending the funeral in Rosario and Iker had approached him with the idea of going to offer their condolences. _“Someone from our team should go and I’m flying out with Sergio tonight. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come along,”_ he said. _“I know you two have the weirdest history and the media will leap on to this story but they will do that either way, even if you don’t attend,”_ Iker continued and before he could finish, Cris found himself agreeing saying _“Of course. We should all go. I’ll pack and book a ticket, just give me an hour.”_

**************************************

 

Watching all the _cule’s_ outside of Camp Nou was a weird social experiment, Cris thought as he stood awkwardly in a corner flanked by Ramos and Iker at the wake in Rosario. The funeral had been perfunctory and quiet, in spite of it being attended by hundreds of people. Following the funeral the crowd had gathered to pay their respects to the family personally at the Messi family home and Cris struggled to curb the overwhelming sense of de ja vu that clawed at his skin being back in that house.

 _“Can you believe Messi actually lives in this dump?”_ Ramos whispered in his ear, and Cris just shrugged. His teammates probably couldn’t have helped noticing how distracted he had been staring at the subject in question. Cris’ eyes had been focused on Leo throughout the proceedings and it was of little use given that the latter had barely looked up once during the entire service and even now was only shaking hands and accepting hugs quietly. It was impossible to tell how he was feeling, which wasn’t really anything new.

The awkward trio found themselves loitering in one corner of the lounge area after they made their way to Leo’s mother and offered their condolences. She and Leo’s sister Maria had both raised a slight eyebrow at Cris’ presence but they had both graciously shook hands and offered them food. Leo had been much more welcoming to Iker and Ramos, shaking their hands and hugging them, whispering his ‘thank you for coming’ softly. He had struggled a bit to hide his surprise at seeing Cris there but no one could possibly have been the wiser as to why. After all, Cristiano Ronaldo finding himself at the Messi residence, even for a funeral, was news in and of itself without adding the additional element of the former painfully pining after the latter’s kisses. Cris desperately tried to hold Leo’s gaze but the smaller man was intractable as usual. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on Cris’ chest and hugged him, thanked him and quickly moved on. Cris found himself mentally cursing himself for holding on to even that briefest of physical contacts.

The three _madridistas_ found themselves in the curious position of being privy to how the _blaugranas_ operated outside the pitch in their ‘family setting’. Iniesta was playing ‘dad’ as per usual, whispering orders to Alves, Neymar and anyone else in sight about making sure Leo’s family didn’t have to worry about guests, he was fielding people at the door and trying to ensure Leo had to talk as little to people as possible without actually having to talk to him himself. Classic deflector. Xavi was scowling, nursing a drink and casting perfunctory glances in Leo’s direction making sure he was okay, where he was, who he was with and whether or not he had to run interference. _“Oh, look at ‘Classic Big Brother syndrome’ in action at two-o-clock,”_ Ramos whispered in his ear. Spot on.

Then there was Neymar, the constant thorn in Cris’ side and mind. Perpetually trailing up to Leo every few minutes asking if he was okay, if he needed anything. Cris gritted his teeth, a nerve ticking in his jaw as he couldn’t help but notice that the Brazilian did seem over familiar with Messi. The man couldn’t help touching him, hands on his arm, neck, hugging him repeatedly, whispering questions in his ear. It made a part of Cris curl in on himself to think that some of the circus speculation surrounding those two might actually be on target. What if they actually _were_ lovers? Cris focused his gaze on Leo’s expression and responses to Neymar’s ministrations and was slightly relieved to see that the little man was just as intractable and blank faced as ever. Although, come to think of it, that didn’t exactly prove anything. Leo wasn’t the most expressive person even under the best circumstances.

Leo’s Argentinian teammates had all made an appearance, testimony to how much they all seemed to love him; they had hovered around him constantly and most of them were extremely familiar with the Messi family. Angel had been surprised at seeing Cris there, had even asked him _“What are you doing here? Why did you come?”_ quite abrupt in contrast to his normally friendly nature. Cris had replied that he was there to pay his respects but Di Maria continued to look sceptical. He hugged Ramos and Iker but seemed weary of Cris’ presence and perhaps it wasn’t really his fault. Cris had never made any bones about his loathing for Leo in public. Angel was just being protective. Thiago was constantly clutched in his arms, being passed around between a series of Argentine ‘uncles’, Higuain, Macherano and Lavezzi.

Cris focused the bulk of his attention on Cesc and Pique, the former kept casting sidelong glances trying to evaluate Leo’s mental state and the latter was –to put it mildly – stone drunk, nursing his third glass of gin. Pique looked like a giant squatting on a perch, sat on a small stool in the corner of the room mumbling something to Cesc at lightening speed, with Fabregas constantly shushing him and giving him warning looks in return. Ramos raised his eyebrows in Cris direction indicating a prime eavesdropping opportunity and Iker looked at them both with a warning stare. _“Don’t you two dare! This is neither the time or the place to play ‘I Spy’,”_ he said in a low breath. _“Oh please, what’s the harm and don’t pretend you’re not curious,”_ Ramos whispered earnestly. Cris couldn’t help but agree with him.

The three tried to look as inconspicuous as they could when they slowly sauntered into a corner shielded from the sight of the crowd but within earshot of all the _cul’es_. _“I don’t care what you say, I’m not sorry that son-of-a-bitch is gone. It spares Leo, and frankly I don’t fancy having to constantly stalk the old shit warning him that I’ll kill him if he touches Leo again,”_ Pique slurred. Cris felt the shock course through him like ice in his veins for a moment before he saw a mutual processing take place in the identically puzzled eyes of his teammates. It fit. Lionel Messi was just too quiet and too cornered in person not to have had some kind of painful past in play. _“You really think this is the time or place Gerry? What if he hears you? Keep your voice down!”_ Cesc chided him. _“He should be fucking relieved. All that bastard ever did was stalk him like his own personal fucking demon, suck out his money and shit all over his happiness. Do you remember when we caught him with that belt when we were kids? Remember what he said to us ‘I do this for his own good. How do you think he gets up so quickly after he’s been tackled on a field, it’s because he knows how to take a good beating’…I swear I could have killed the son-of-a-bitch right then,”_ Gerry was on a roll. Cesc looked wearily in Leo’s direction and Cris followed his gaze. Messi was flanked by his nieces and nephews, the little girl sat in his lap. He was whispering something in her ear and was completely oblivious to their conversation.

Out of a corner, Iniesta suddenly barged in and barked at them both in a low voice. _“Will you two fucking keep it down! I could hear you down the hallway. What the fuck are you thinking going on about all this here,”_ he cussed out. Cris had never really heard Iniesta talk much, let alone scold. _“Sorry Ini, I think I’ll take him outside,”_ Cesc said. _“And where the fuck is Kun? He’s the only one Leo will talk to,”_ Iniesta barked out. Both Fabregas and Pique simultaneously scoffed at that in outrage and tried to protest. _“Oh shove it, yes you both are his oldest friends and I’m sure you’ll get you’re certificates sometime soon. But I need someone here who can manage him,”_ he said before heading out. _“Fuck that shit. Leo still talks to us. Although, I have to agree, where the fuck IS Kun?”_ Cesc whispered.

As if on cue, Sergio Aguero rushed in through the main doors with his son Benjamin’s hand clutched in one hand and a duffel bag in another, looking flustered and apologetic. He bee-lined straight for Leo’s mother, ignoring a hovering Iniesta. _“Madre I’m so sorry,”_ he clamped out between gritted teeth. _“Where the hell were you?”_ she responded, slightly smacking Aguero on the back of the head and Cris and Ramos were a little shocked at the familiarity of the greeting. _“Benji and I were stuck at the bloody airport for 6 hours while our flight got delayed. I switched tickets but there wasn’t another flight sooner,”_ he rushed out. _“How is he?”_ he whispered. _“Oh Leo? Kun, how should I know? It’s not like he tell us anything,”_ she said shakily, her lower lip quivering a little. Kun just hugged her. Cris watched closely as Leo’s sister and brothers gathered around Aguero and hugged him like he was family. One of his brothers picked up Benjamin and took him over to the other children.

So this was Kun.

Cris had to admit, that in the legion of Leo’s guardians, friends and to his slightly-skewed-vision potential lovers, Kun seemed to be the leading the pack.

 

 

 _“Where the fuck have you been?!”_ Cesc poked at Kun’s back and the other man turned around slowly, sighing loudly. His normally grinning face was sombre and tired. _“My flight got delayed, okay! You think I wanted to miss the funeral?”_ he responded wearily. It was an odd interaction to witness; the way Cris figured, these two were now the Leo/Ronaldo of the Premiere league in some ways. With Chelsea and Manchester City being the top of their league. Yet this alternate set of arch-rivals seemed to already have some camaraderie.

 _“Who’d have thought those two were …whatever?”_ Iker whispered in his ear.

 _“I know,”_ Ramos responded and Cris nodded. _“Look, he hasn’t said a damned word and I’ve tried, so has Gerry. It’s just ‘I’m fine’ or ‘stop worrying’ or ‘have you eaten, Cesc?’…Have **I** eaten?! Fucking Leo,”_ Fabregas’ monologue was a gateway into his feelings for everyone to see, anyone who looked close enough that is.

These guys genuinely loved Messi. The sheer aura of protectiveness in the room was a little stifling and normally Ramos and Cris would have found themselves laughing at it, except given the snippets of conversation they had overheard it suddenly all made sense. Why Leo’s teammates always seemed to adopt him as a perpetual little brother, even the ones younger than him and also why Leo was perpetually defensive and removed. Ten years these guys had all been together, all been privy to Leo’s life and his silence. _“That’s Leo. He’ll be okay,”_ Kun whispered looking guiltily in Messi’s direction. As the latter made his way over to the drinks table, not yet aware of Kun’s presence. _“Are you staying?”_ Cesc asked, half hopeful and half apprehensive. Cris could tell there was an equal measure of respect and envy at play there. Kun, on the other hand, didn’t seem like someone who processed things the same way. He seemed rather oblivious of hierarchies and power plays, no wonder he and Leo were ‘besties’. _“Of course, I’m staying. Benji and I are here for the week. Stop hovering.”_ Kun sighed in exasperation.

Cris and Ramos moved around the room to grab a drink and Kun spotted them from the corner of his eye. His eyes widened. Cris waved in his general direction from across the room and Kun stood frozen for a moment before tersely nodding back. He moved into the alcove and Cris followed behind him, keeping a safe distance. Leo was pouring a drink when Cris saw Kun stand directly less than a foot behind him. _“Are you kidding! You know whiskey makes you puke. I’ve got you covered boludo, snagged a couple of these little gin shots off the plane that you love so much,”_ Kun spoke in a soft sort of half-laugh. Iker, Ramos and Cris looked on curiously as Leo closed his eyes shut for a long moment and gripped the white, cotton tablecloth tightly before he whirled around and buried his face in Kun’s chest, clasping his hands tightly behind the other striker’s back. Out of the corner of his eye Cris caught Iniesta, Fabregas, Neymar and Pique look on from the other side of the room, a combination of relief and envy marking their collective faces before they headed back out the door into the back yard.

What Cris felt was in another league altogether. He felt transfixed, watching the two strikers hugging in the middle of a crowded room, jealousy bubbling up his stomach but more as a result of the obvious shared intimacy than anything overtly sexual. He had a lot of football friends but he knew for sure that he sure as hell didn't have this. He could never open up to any of them in that sort of ...vulnerable...way. And Leo had seemed like the last person to allow such a thing either. Everyone apparently knew that Leo wasn’t really one to express how he was feeling and that he shied away from all attention, that said, Messi seemed to have no qualms opening up to this one person in full view of everyone else, his own family included.  
That was something.  
As far as Cris was concerned, it was everything.  
And it seemed to already belong to someone else.

They stood like that for a while, to Cris it felt like years. Leo was apparently whispering something into Kun’s chest without loosening his hold even a fraction and the latter smiled softly and whispered a response in Leo’s ear. One of Kun’s hands was rubbing Leo’s back, crumpling his black suit, while the other was curled around his head, fingers tangled in Leo’s hair. When they finally broke apart Leo seemed to have composed himself. _“Where were you, Kun?”_ he rebuked him softly. And unlike all the other explanations Kun had offered that day, all he said to Leo was _“I’m so sorry amigo. I should have been here sooner.”_

 _“It’s okay. You’re here now. You are…you are staying, though, right?”_ Leo asked nervously. _“Of course, I’m staying. Benjamin insisted he was too, he sort of needed to see you were okay,”_ Kun smiled.

Leo turned around his gaze searching, presumably, for the little Maradona while the larger-than-life version was seated at the far corner of the room twirling a glass of whiskey in his hand and quietly glaring at Aguero. Cris recalled Kun’s rather messy divorce and the rumours that Leo had actually stood by his side at the custody hearing for his son. _“Wow, talk about awkward family drama,”_ Ramos whispered in his ear as they observed Maradona hug his grandson, still glaring at Kun over his shoulder.

 

 

 

As the afternoon progressed the crowd kept thinning out until only some of the _cule’s_ , Angel, Kun and some of Leo’s family were left. Iker kept insisting that the three of them head out but Ramos and Cris always that they wanted to linger a bit longer. Soon the group split as the cule’s headed out into the backyard patio with beers in hand and invited them to join. Messi was still inside, speaking to his brothers and then carrying Thiago upstairs to one of the rooms to put him to bed.  
 _“I tell you, they should really just have us all run around after toddlers for a few hours rather than have us in training. We’ll all be winning the Champions League next season,”_ Angel sighed collapsing into a lounge chair after having spent the day chasing after Thiago. Iniesta laughed at that and Kun smirked in Angel and Pique’s general direction. The latter giant seemed to be snoozing softly in a big swing chair. Glass of gin still tucked safely by his side.  
“ _I have to say, it is rather surprising to see you here Cristiano?”_ Cesc inquired, ever the protector. Kun also looked straight at him then, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. _“I thought it was the right thing to do,”_ Cris answered calmly.  
 _“We should be heading out soon, will just wait on Leo a bit,”_ Iniesta and Xavi announced to the group, adding _“Kun, you’re here with him…right? Should I stay back…”_  
 _“No, little blaugrana, I’m here the whole week,”_ Kun smiled his toothy smile at Andres, who scoffed. “ _You know that’s Leo’s title, right?”_ Iniesta responded and Ramos snorted into his beer.  
 _“What’s my title?”_ Leo suddenly appeared behind Cesc and Kun laughed. _“Little Blaugrana, this one here says that’s you,”_ he pointed at Iniesta and Leo pulled a tired face responding _“Kun, you do realise Ini is taller than you and that you and I are the same height, right?”_  
 _“No way! Take that back ...pulga!”_ Kun laughed and Xavi, who had remained silent during most of the proceedings, finally joined in the laughter. _“You can puff out your chest as much as you like Aguero, it don’t make you taller,”_ he jibed.  
Leo, meanwhile, blanched and looked straight at Iniesta and said _“I swear, I will never forgive you for that nickname.”_

 _“I’ve apologised a thousand times! I was 16, how was I to know it would stick?!”_ Iniesta protested hands raised ruffling Leo’s hair.

  
 _“Wait a minute, you've got to be kidding me, **you** came up with pulga?”_ Cris couldn’t help himself asking and suddenly all the _cule’s_ were looking at him. Angel, who was practically on the verge of falling asleep opened one eye. Everyone’s gaze on Cris but the one he wanted. Leo looked resolutely at the top of Kun’s head, leaning against Kun’s shoulders, as Aguero’s chair faced Cris. Suddenly they all burst out laughing and Iniesta just made a sheepish face.

 _“You guys are ones to talk. What the hell do they feed you people in Madrid, Testosterone Tacos?! It's like a parade of pine trees,”_ Kun joked and Ramos smirked.  
 _“You just feel that way because most of you cule’s are such little smurfs,”_ he countered.  
 _“Makes it easier to tweak past you giants and net more goals,”_ Xavi laughed. Iker snorted defensively at that. Suddenly Pique, woke up and joined in _“What about me then?”_ he countered defensively. “You’re the exception, don’t ruin it,” Cesc laughed.

At that very moment, Leo suddenly grabbed Pique’s glass thinking it to be water and took a huge gulp. Cris, Iker and Ramos collectively cracked up when they saw his face turn beet red and saw him coughing up a storm. _“Oh crap, yeah Leo, that’s not water,”_ Gerry said apologetically and Leo just glared at him _“You think?”_ He suddenly leaned over Kun’s chair  and Kun passed up his own water bottle wordlessly.

Cris’ laughter came to an abrupt halt at that. It was just unsettling this _whatever… **thing**_ between those two. Wordless, strong and smooth. He had witnessed it on a pitch only twice but it was even more potent in person. Leo’s so-called magical connection with Neymar was all just media stardust, with Kun Aguero…Cris had never seen Leo even look up or sideways even in full flight after the ball. They simply seemed to know each other’s every move. It didn’t help that the only few times Cris had seen Leo laugh openly or on camera was usually in Kun’s presence. It was all just getting to him. It shouldn’t, he and Leo weren’t even… _anything_ , really. But he was sure that he hoped they would be someday and he suddenly felt that no matter where they got in that imagined future, Cris would never know _this_ …what these two seemed to have. It bothered him purely on a point of pride. Cris was not used to ever coming second. Especially when he didn’t even know what he was competing for.

It was getting dark and the blaugrana’s said their goodbyes offering him, Ramos and Iker a ride to their hotel.

Everyone hugged Leo and Kun.

Before leaving Cris turned around to see Kun bounding into the house after his son with Leo slowly trailing behind him. A part of him couldn’t help but want to stay back and force Leo to have the conversation he had needed to have for months but a larger part knew that this was not the time. He gazed intently at Leo and the smaller man suddenly turned around. Their eyes met for a brief second and Cris tried to plead with Leo for a chance…to what, he wasnt really sure. He might have even gotten one if Ramos hadn’t chosen that very minute to call him to the car.

Leo’s gaze dropped quickly and he rushed back into the house.

Cris, on the other hand, resolved to come back the next day.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second beginning...of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****My deepest apologies for abandoning this fic for so long. I was swamped at work and with school and completely overtaken by writers block. The final few chapters should be along shortly. Thank you so SO much for all the positive feedback.

His presence had been nagging at Leo all night. He couldn’t sleep and it didn’t help that Kun’s snoring was still just as loud as when they were teenagers. Why was Cristiano here? Sure, the Portugese had tried contacting him, quite persistently, over the past few months but that didn’t mean that he had the right to come barging in at his father’s funeral in the guise of a concerned, respectful rival. Leo had worked hard to put that one night behind him and even though he had mostly succeeded, he still couldn’t help the fact that Cristiano had a nasty habit of frequenting his dreams, usually minimally clothed and looking utterly debauched. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in hearing the man’s excuses or making him feel better about ‘explaining’ their rather patented one-night stand. The way Leo figured, Cristiano ought to be much better at handling such situations than he seemed to be at present…or perhaps, he just enjoyed riling Leo and seeing if he would react. Leo was determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Thank God for Kun. The moment, he had heard his voice it was as if the blurry afternoon of haunting memories and more-than-usual-awkward conversation had all come into sharp focus. It had always been that way with Kun, since they were teenagers. Once, they had been madly in love. Silly and young and naïve enough to not even know how to really hide it. Constantly touching and hugging each other in public and in photographs for the world to see. Truth be told, Kun was still like that and Leo loved that about him. The fact that no matter how much the world threw at him, he never stopped laughing in the face of it all. Somewhere along the line they had both understood that if they continued to wait for each other, their love would falter, perhaps even fracture into something beyond repair. Several years ago, they had both decided while lying in bed together during one of the Albiceste away-fixtures that they would keep what they could of each other when they could but that they wouldn’t make promises. Those moments spent playing with Argentina together, each year became their respite from life. Days, weeks, sometimes months where they belonged wholly to each other and sometimes it all still seemed just as shiny and new as it had when they were younger. But they agreed not to talk about their relationships, sexual encounters or … _whatever_ , when they weren’t together. It was the only way to move forward through the years without moving apart.

Leo knew that he always had Kun and Kun knew the same of him. Benji and Thiago were practically siblings on some level and whenever something got really serious, they called the other. Giannina had known about Leo, although he couldn’t think why Kun had considered it a good idea to tell her about their particular brand of love story. Surprisingly, she had actually been a trooper about it and eventually she and Leo had even struck some semblance of camaraderie. Turns out, none of it mattered when Kun fell for that other woman, who both Gia and he agreed to hate together. Luckily that ended soon enough and Leo was able to broker some sort of post-divorce peace between the two of them in spite of Diego’s best efforts to make things as bad as he possibly could.

But now Kun was here and Leo was glad and relieved to be able to feel his touch, rest his head on his chest and find some comfort in the familiarity of his heartbeat. Kun knew that Leo had been a little shaken a few months ago, he knew there had been some really ‘weird’ sex involved in the equation but they had never really asked each other for details and Leo was certainly not going to go out of his way to volunteer that information.

 

                                                                                         ------------------------------

The next morning, Kun left for Buenos Aires early so that he could drop Benji at his mother’s and be back with Leo in a day or two. Leo was still in bed, when Kun softly kissed his forehead and let himself out around 7am. Kun completely missed the rented-white Camry parked across the house or the tall, Portuguese skulking behind the fence wall. Cristiano made it a point to sprint in through the electric gate before it closed completely after Kun reversed his car, carrying a sleeping Benjamin out of the driveway.

Once inside, Cristiano moved swiftly through the house. He found the main door open and headed straight for Leo’s room. Messi was still fast asleep and Cristiano silently surveyed his surrounding before his eyes came to rest on Leo. The bed had definitely been slept in by two people. The other side seemed only recently vacated and Cris‘ heartbeat raced a little when he noticed that Leo seemed not to be wearing any clothes under the covers as his bare chest disappearing under the cobalt blue quilt seemed to mock Cris.

It was an odd sensation. It wasn’t even exactly jealousy, although there was definitely enough of that coursing through his veins. Mostly, it felt like defeat. It was a feeling he recognised all too well, especially when associated with the man asleep in front of him, mouth slightly open, one pale foot peeking out from the side of the bed. A large part of Cristiano wanted to run out of that room, curl into a corner on his bed miles away in Madrid, cry and not wake up for a week. But an even larger part was desperate to take whatever opportunity presented itself to ogle an unsuspecting Leo while he still had the chance. He wasn’t really surprised that Leo and Kun were lovers, no two people could get that close without having….been, well _, that_ close. And Cris, wasn’t even angry anymore. He felt supremely tired, like he’d run a marathon only to be told at the finish line that he’d been running in the wrong direction. That someone had already won gold and gone home and ‘what was he still doing here anyway’.

It hurt like a bitch.

Cris bent low by the bed, staring closely at the tiny lines framing Leo’s open mouth and traced the edge of his lips slightly with his fingers, as if compelled. Cris’ gaze had been so focused on Leo’s lips he hadn’t really noticed the Argentine’s eyes flutter open at his ministrations.

‘What the ACTUAL FUCK?!’

 

                                                            -------------------------------------------------------

 

Leo nearly shot right out of his skin. What the fuck was Cristiano doing in his room at fuck-o-clock in the morning?!

“ _Look, calm down. I just came to…._ ” Cris tried to pacify him with his tone but this only seemed to agitate the Argentine more.

“ _Calm down?! Calm down? How dare you just barge into my house and my bedroom like some…psycho-stalker? What do you want from me? Why are you even back here in Rosario? Why can’t you just leave me be. Really? Wasn’t it enough, Ronaldo? You’ve had your bit of fun…how much longer do you want to rub this in? You win, you humiliated me. What more do you fucking need to do for this to stop, Cristiano?_ ” Leo was panting, partly because of all the pent up rage and also because of the sheer frustration of still feeling a little heated because Cris hadn’t backed away or removed his hand from where he’d placed it on his chest after he’d been tracing Leo’s lips.

Cristiano looked positively thunderous in that moment. It was the same face he wore when his team didn’t pass him the ball during a last-leg run in a classico. _“Fun?! Fun? You think this is fucking ‘fun’ for me? Listen, you little shit, I’ve been going fucking out of my mind for nearly 5 months trying to talk to you, get through to you, bloody see you and you’ve been blocking me at every turn. You think I was having fun during all that? You think….”_ Cris was practically ranting at this point - fists clenched, teeth bared, eyes flashing.

 _“You’re the one who…”_ Leo tried to interject.

 _“Shut the fuck up. I know what I did. You think I came here to humiliate you all those months ago? Don’t fucking flatter yourself. You may be oh-so majestic Messi to the rest of the world but to me you’re just the bloody competition and I’m not exactly in a rush to bow down to you. That night…I….I just”_ It was only at this point that Cris’ voice faltered a little, his jaw trembled slightly and he took a deep breath.

 _“Look, I don’t care. I don’t want to know. I just want you to leave,”_ Leo made one final attempt to ward off the belated, half-assed excuse he knew he neither needed nor wanted for that night at this moment.

“ _Oh believe me, I KNOW **you** don’t care. But I do care and I need to say this,_ ” Cris continued, laughing bitterly. Leo couldn’t understand his posture at all – he wasn’t preening or victorious. If anything, he looked positively lost. He had never seen Cristiano sit slumped like this. Leaning against his nightstand, legs stretched on the floor, staring at his empty hands and looking anywhere but at Leo. The sight was so jarring that it kept Leo quiet and almost frozen in place.

 _“That night was one of the most amazing moments of my life. And it bothered me supremely that it had happened with you. I woke up that next morning and you were in my arms and for a few moments I found myself wondering what it would be like…you know? What it would **really** be like. You and me, waking up like that every morning. Having breakfast together, watching TV with our kids…just being. It scared the shit out of me, Leo,”_ Cris looked straight at him then, eyes locked on to his own shocked ones, watery and cuttingly honest.

Cristiano kept those eyes pinned on Leo as he continued _“It was so clear and I wanted it so much and that scared me even further. I mean, all I knew of you till that morning was that I needed to beat you. That you were this little, annoying thorn in my side and that I had to run and train through the pain of you. It just got to be so much and suddenly I could barely breathe and I knew I had to get out of there. I knew the moment I left that it felt wrong but it didn’t sound wrong, you know what I mean? So I pretended it was nothing for as long as I could. It lasted a week or so and then I knew that it wouldn’t work. I tried to fuck every trace of you away - with other people, with memories, with anger but nothing worked. It’s almost like you were haunting me or something. You’re right, I have been stalking you. How do you think, that makes **ME** feel? I’m stalking Leo Messi, obsessing over him, begging him to talk to me, make love to me one more time and then I find myself all the way here to finally figure out you don’t need me for any of that, do you? You have someone to talk to and make love to already and I’m just…I’m just... **such** a colossal moron…”_ Cristiano’s monologue suddenly switched and collapsed into a dark self-destructive guffaw.

Leo couldn’t really tell if the other man was laughing or crying by this point and he suddenly didn’t care in the least. Either way, whatever it was…it was for him and he’d take it. He’d take all of it and all of Cris along with it. Cris was still engulfed in the traumatic haze of his little soliloquy when Leo slid down from the covers, shivering a little as he was still only in his boxers. He crawled two steps towards Cristiano on his knees and straddled the taller man’s legs with his own, sitting squarely on his lap. Cris voice suddenly left him in a loud sigh, as Leo softly held his face in both his hands and kissed him.

It was slow and deep. Leo ran his hands through Cristiano’s hair, as the darker man reached up to meet his mouth in quiet desperation, nipping eagerly at his lower lip. Cristiano groaned deeply when Leo ground his hips against his and clutched at the smaller man’s bare back trying to press him as close as physically possible. Leo pulled back for a moment.

Staring deep into Cris’ moist eyes, at his trembling lips and said _“Is this real Cris? I expect you to treat it like it is or…or let’s just stop now.”_

 _“It’s real. Trust me. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,”_ he whispered, against the Argentine's neck.

 _“Don’t you EVER treat me like that again. If we try this, than we have to be all in. You and I can’t afford to be together for anything less than that. Don’t you ever walk out on me like that again. I mean it Cristiano,”_ Leo deadpanned.

 _“I **am** all in you little idiot. What about you? What about Kun? Clearly, you seem to already be ‘all in’, with someone else. What am I even…”_ Leo could tell that Cris was panicking again, his breathing quickening as a response of fear rather than Leo's touch.

 _“Kun and I aren’t together. At least not like that... not anymore. I will tell you everything but I don’t think this is the time for all that,”_ Leo said softly, pressing one more sharp kiss to Cris’ lips.

 _“Oh really?” What is this the time for?”_ Cris grinned up at him, flashing his perfectly polished teeth for added effect.

 _“Well, I believe I need some kind of reassurance you’re going to be obedient and faithful this time…”_ Leo smirked down at him.

 _“Obedient, isn't exactly my setting and I just said that I…”_ Cris interjected, annoyed and defensive but Leo kissed him again, biting his lower lip this time.

 _“…And I believe last time, you got to have your way with me and I sort of let you,”_ Leo continued kissing his way along Cris' jaw, still smiling against his perfectly shaved cheek.

 _“Funny, that’s not how I remember it at all,”_ Cris scoffed slightly, voice breathy and catching at the end.

 _“Well, I guess this is my turn to remind you then,”_ Leo said, bending down towards Cris’ ear and whispering, _“I also believe it’s my turn now. You know? My turn to be inside you”_. He felt Cris' entire body shudder beneath his at the suggestion and Leo grew painfully hard in anticipation.

 _“Okay?”_ he whispered, gazing into Cris’ eyes inquiringly.

Cris swallowed loudly. Painfully turned on and barely managing to shake his head in acceptance, breathing out a stuttering  _“Okay.”_

 _“Okay…”_ they both whispered their promise, foreheads pressed together, breathing jittery, bodies clenched in want.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the second last chapter before a short epilogue. Hope you like it.   
> As always, Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated.

The hardest part for both of them was being apart.

Then again, being together wasn’t exactly easy either.

They were both just so, SO different. A pair of opposing ions reacting and invading each others space. Everything between them eventually became a source of friction. Cris couldn’t contain anything. Leo couldn’t express anything. Cris wanted to crowd him, keep him, smother him and flash their love to the world. Leo sought corners, evaded being owned and paraded, needed space and quiet. At first every single emotion, every single kiss was a promise. It was all so exciting and then it became real.

Real was hard.

 

                                                                                                               ~

_“You never tell me how you feel. I’m so fucking sick of trying to guess everything you feel all the damned time. I know you’re mad at me so just say it. Why can’t you EVER just say what you’re fucking thinking?!”_ Cris was hysterical. Yelling loud enough for the kids to wake up. Leo no longer even remembered what the fight was about. Something stupid like his forgetting to call Cris at the exact time in Madrid but when he tried to tell him it wasn’t a big deal and that he was sorry Cris just kept getting more and more worked up.

_“Of course it isn’t a big deal to you, you don’t give a crap,”_ Cris huffed and pressed _“Where were you anyway?”_ Leo hated this but he answered knowing it would only make things worse if he didn't. _“I was with Ney, he and I were at practice late and then he insisted we grab dinner,”_ Leo said truthfully. _“Well, I hope you had fun. Glad to know you're keeping your options open,”_ Cris ground out between clenched teeth, his insane jealousy getting the best of him.

_“Don’t be an idiot. Neymar is a teammate,”_ Leo interjected finally getting pissed off himself.

_“Well maybe I should start spending some more time with some of my teammates. I mean James is particularly smitten with me,”_ Cris said childishly. Leo felt a dull thud in his abdomen and his voice immediately calmed to a crisp, cutting _“If that’s what you want, Cris. I have to go”_ before he hung up. Leo went to sleep with Thiago curled in his arms that night just to ward off his anxiety.

Somewhere in the middle of the night – closer to early morning, his door opened and Cristiano silently tiptoed his way in. He had let himself in using the key Leo had given him two months after they started seeing each other and quietly slipped beneath the sheets after taking off his sneakers. Cris curled his body tightly around Leo’s and snaked his arms far out enough to even envelop Thiago. Leo stirred slightly but continued sleeping. The following morning Leo awoke to two little hands pushing him awake with whispers of _“Tio Leo, come on! Wake up.”_

He immediately shot up to find Nino and Thiago jumping into his lap hugging him. _“When did you get here, mijo?"_ he whispered, as he glanced at Cris fast asleep behind him on the bed. Still wearing his jeans. _“Last night. Papi just woke me up and said we were going to Barcelona. He said he missed you and we would all have breakfast together in the morning. He promised you would make pancakes,”_ Nino mumbled out in his excitement. Leo smiled a little at Cris' assumption and followed the boys down to the kitchen to start on the pancakes. Half an hour later, he was still standing in front of the stove when Cris walked barefoot into the kitchen and stood right behind him. The taller man grabbed him around the waist and kissed him on the back of his neck before twisting his head around to target his mouth. Leo blushed as he heard the boys giggle at them from the counter, teasing them with 'kissing in a tree' rhymes for the rest of the day.

                                                                                                            ~

 

Cris had never been able to put Leo’s face telling him about Kun out of his mind. He knew he was jealous and that his absurd aggression could possibly destroy them much more deeply than Kun's presence ever could but he wasn’t the sort that could ever let such things go. He remembered Leo’s quiet smile and his utterly adorable blush when he recounted memories for Cris, all the while maintaining his stoic insistence that Kun and Leo were no longer 'that way'.

But Cris couldn’t overcome his anxiety, he knew enough not to push this too far partly because Leo was beginning to lose patience with his constant petulance and partly because he feared that if it ever came to choosing between him and Kun, Leo would probably give up his lover rather than his best friend. And yet, it niggled at him. Leo was currently in London, with the Albiceste for some friendly or other and even though Cris and he had agreed that his former ‘arrangement’ with Kun would have to change now that they were dating he was still suspicious. It wasn’t so much that he was suspicious Leo would cheat on him but rather that he and Kun would enjoy themselves more than he and Leo did, that their annoying intimacy would colour everything else.

The pair were constantly posting annoying pictures of each other goofing around across London. Granted, Angel was also in most of the pictures but still. Cris hated those days. Days when he was forced to share Leo…not just with football and the world (something they both dealt with) but with someone who knew him better than he did.

That was the crux of it.

Leo talked to Kun…and no one else. No matter how hard the City striker had tried to be his friend for Leo’s sake, Cris could never forgive him that one privilege.

                                                                                                     ~

 

It was one of those rare breaks between games where they found themselves with an entire week to themselves. So they went to one of Cris’ cabins in Switzerland with the kids and spent their afternoons playing Fifa and watching cartoons, while Cris did all the character voices and Leo cooked ridiculously heavy Italian food that they gorged on till they were all groggy and found themselves scattered over each other on the couch till the next morning.

Cris forced Leo into taking long baths after they’d put the boys to sleep talking about their teams and their respective plans for the year. They kissed and made love. It was perfect. The night before they had to catch their flight, Leo sat cross-legged on the bed in his boxers, watching some old film that Cris had zoned out of an hour ago to focus on his laptop screen. In the midst of answering emails, Cris looked up and found himself fixated on his boyfriend’s face. Leo was smiling, that perfect, apple-cheek blush grin of his that coloured his cheeks and his eyes were shiny from staring at the screen. He periodically popped a potato chip into his mouth completely unaware of the other’s focus. Suddenly Cris put his laptop down and slid up behind Leo. Before the other could protest, Cris wound his own long legs around Leo’s waist and rested his chin on Leo’s shoulder kissing it softly.

_“How about sharing one of those, greedy?”_ he murmured, nibbling on Leo’s earlobe. The Argentine leaned back against him and laughed “ _Are you serious? Mr No-Carb is asking me for processed junk food?”_

_“It’s too late for that anyway. You’ve already fed me enough carb to last me a life time this week,”_ Cris scowled.

_“Well, I don’t want to be held responsible for your destruction,”_ Leo laughed, head thrown back against Cris’ shoulder.

It was now or never. Cris had been meaning to tell him for a long time but he never really saw an opportunity. He suddenly whispered _“Too late for that. I’m already destroyed. You win this one”_ Leo immediately noticed the change in Cris' tone and turned around to look at him. His serious face, intense eyes and set jaw. _“Don’t say it like that, please,”_ Leo implored, turning around to face Cris’, sitting in the taller man's lap, still locked in a vice-like grip.

Their faces were barely centimetres apart when Cris kissed his forehead and whispered _“I love you, you know that?”_ Leo gasped softly before his face broke out into the most perfect smile Cris had ever seen. Constructed just for him. His. _“I didn’t but I do now. I love you too.”_ Cris suddenly grabbed Leo’s left hand slipping on the platinum band he had been carrying around in his pocket for months, inscribed _‘Your’s Forever, Cris.’_ Leo was a little stunned and his voice shook a little when he said _“How will we do this?”_

Cris just smiled and responded _“We’ll do it together.”_

                                                                                                        ~

 

They announced it to the world a week later. First they each had to talk to their teammates.

It had been an unmitigated disaster.

The Blaugranas had panicked, overprotective and overzealous. Xavi, Iniesta, Pique and Neymar had stormed their self-righteous rage all the way to Madrid surprising Cristiano in the middle of the night demanding to know his ‘intentions’. They poked and prodded with a dozen questions and Cris almost hit Neymar when he kept saying “ _It’s a lie. Leo could never love you”_ over and over again.

_“Well he does, you little shit. And I suggest you all accept that because I love him and this is happening. We will do this with or without your support. I don’t expect any of you to be on my side here,”_ Cris tried to be calm as Xavi snorted sarcastically _“But I do expect you to be on his side. Isn’t that what you Cule’s do? Stand by each other and all that jazz?”_ he finished.

_“Yes, exactly. Which is why we wouldn’t let him destroy his life,”_ Iniesta fumed. Cris was genuinely disappointed at this response because he had only really expected sanity from that one. Surprisingly it was Pique who had stayed quiet throughout. “ _You really love him? This isn’t some weird marketing ploy or power play?”_ he asked quietly and insulted as Cris was at the insinuation, he responded calmly _“Leo is the love of my life. That comes as a bigger surprise to me than it does to any of you, trust me. But then again, it shouldn’t. He is the kindest and most beautiful person I've ever met. I wont be letting him go, so you guys can stop storming my gates…or you can keep storming my gates…whatever. Either way, we will be together,”_ Cris looked up to see their faces and it appeared they had finally absorbed what he said.

They didn’t look happy about it but they believed it.

 

The Blancos had taken it much better. Most of them already knew Cristiano would do what pleased him and Iker and Ramos already had a sense of his feelings towards Leo because they had witnessed his mania when Leo had avoided him early on. Also, it didn’t help that when it came to their respective reputations…even Cris had to admit that his team was more flattered to have Leo in tow rather than the other way around.

He was determined to change that, though.

                                                                                                                     ~

 

Their first real fight had lasted over a month. Cris knew he had been the one to start it, throwing the most childish tantrum after Leo won a classico. Belittling him and eventually pushing him into retaliating. But boy, when Leo got pissed he really put up a stone wall. Cris found himself alone in Leo’s house waiting for him all night as the Argentine stormed out of his own place with a sleeping Thiago in his arms.

It had been Cris’ temper that finally ran them amuck. He had lost it and when Leo stopped responding to his goading about his team and his ‘mediocre moves’ he had brought up Leo’s father. Cris went on a rampage accusing him of being a coward then and one now. Later on, Cris would never forgive himself for the sheer agony he had caused to appear on his lover’s face. It was almost as if in one split-second Leo went from being his fiancé to a complete stranger the next second: his entire face shut down, crumpled and the change in atmosphere suddenly took all the wind out of Cris’ sails. He immediately stepped forward to apologise _“Querida, Mijo I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that, I…”_ he muttered, trying to pull Leo in his arms but it was as if the man had been carved out of marble.

Leo quietly left the room and Cris found himself frozen, knowing he had perhaps done irreparable damage this time. Cris woke up the next morning to find Leo and Thiago gone. He called every number he could think of trying to get in touch with him before receiving an email stating that Leo didn’t want to see him. That they had made a mistake. That he was ‘grateful’ for the time they had spent together but he needed to focus on Thiago and training for the World Cup. Leo had wished him _‘the best’_ and Cris had broken his laptop screen while reading those words.

Cris spent the first week after that email in a panic constantly waiting for Leo to just materialise behind him in bed one morning like he had done himself during dozens of their spats. He had never said sorry for any one of them but he had made sure that Leo knew he was. This time, Leo had made sure he wouldn’t have that chance. He had completely pulled out of Cris' life, he changed his phone number and blocked Cris on the internet. Cris suddenly realised how deeply he had wounded him. Leo wasn’t like Cris, he could take all the little annoying knocks life threw at him and the ones Cris had. He was used to those and so he never responded, never even really held on to them too long either. He had always forgiven Cris his insensitivity, his belligerence and his sheer stupidity. But apparently even Lionel Messi had his limits.

And Cris had pushed them.

 

Finally, when nothing else worked Cris decided to book a flight to Manchester.

 

 

                                                                                                              ~

 

_“What the hell are you doing here?!”_ was the first thing that Kun said when he opened the door to see Cris outside his house at 10pm with his sleeping son’s head on his shoulder as he carried him in his arms.

_“I need to talk to you,”_ Cris said sternly in a low voice so as not to wake up Nino. Kun countered in the same harsh whisper, with _“Well I have nothing to say to you. You dick! I knew the moment he told me that you would hurt him. Leo was always stupid when he believed the best in people.”_ As worked up as Kun was, Cristiano was surprised to find him lean forward and gently take Nino from his arms, before turning around and heading up the staircase leaving Cris with no choice but to follow. Cris looked on awkwardly as Kun Aguero lay his son down in a bunk-bed beneath his own sleeping son. He pulled off Nino’s shoes and tucked him in before turning to Cris and backing them both out of the room shutting the door behind him.

Cris follow Kun quietly after having barged in on him earlier. _“What do you want Cristiano? Leo is okay but he doesn’t want to see you. Frankly, I don’t blame him. How fucking dare you say that to him? How dare you bring that shit up?!,”_ Kun’s face was blazing with anger. Something about his words set Cris off and he found tears burning the backs of his eyes. All the fear and agony of the last month collecting in one moment to pour out of him as he found himself collapsing in a chair and crying hysterically, wracked by huge heaving sobs.

Kun looked on silently, a little shocked himself, until Cris felt a cool glass rub against the back of his hand.

_“I don’t drink,”_ he said, between sobs.

_“And I don’t go around sharing scotch with bloody Blanco’s at 3am in the morning. Looks like we’re both cheating tonight,”_ he said with a wry grin and Cristiano couldn’t help but crack a smile and take a sip of the burning amber liquid. He found himself pouring his heart out to Kun. Even all his paranoia directed at Aguero himself. For some ridiculous reason, the man was far too easy to talk to and for someone he had been determined to hate the bastard was far too bloody likeable.

Kun told him about Leo’s father, their history, Leo’s innate need to please everyone but himself. _“He’s always been like that. Simple, clear and focused. They all rode on his back you know. I mean, I love Leo’s mom and his brothers and sisters but they all knew what Jorge used to do. They all sat back and let it happen because they knew Leo would carry them all forward. They always cared more about his career than his heart and Leo seems to believe that of everyone. Talking to him used to be like pulling teeth but you have to insist on it. It takes a lot of convincing to make Leo believe he is loved for himself and not for his bloody left foot,”_ Kun told him.

“ _I didn’t know any of it. He never told me. I just…Kun, I need him back. I know you don’t believe me but I cant live without him,”_ Cris whispered, his voice hoarse from his fit earlier.

_“I do believe you man, but you have to fucking grow up! You go around acting on every damn feeling before your brain has even gotten around to thinking about it. Leo can’t be the only one making sense of you two. You think the world isn’t going to go bat-shit crazy when they find out about you? Are you just going to leave him alone to deal with that and make sure you’re also not going crazy?”_ Kun said and Cristiano found himself feeling ashamed of his staggering immaturity.

He would turn this around. _“You’ll take me to him?”_ Cristiano asked, his voice cracking and his eyes pleading. Kun stared at him for a long moment. Weighing both his words and the consequences of helping him. Cris could see the soft loss colour in the Argentine’s gaze and his usually electric smile soften into the saddest he had ever seen. He knew that Kun had weighed Cristiano’s request against his own love for Leo and in that moment for God-knows-what-reason, he had chosen to put Cris’ happiness before his. A part of Cris would always love him for it because he saw how the other man’s shoulders stooped a little, saw the shadow cross his face as he ran his fingers through his grown out hair, no Mohawk this day.

There was no doubt in Cris’ mind at that moment that no matter where Leo stood, Kun had never stopped loving him with exactly the same intensity Cristiano felt. And yet, apparently the man had the capacity to let that go for Leo’s happiness.

Cristiano vowed in that moment, to never call any of the Albiceleste ‘small’ ever again.

 

                                                                                                       ~

 

The next day Kun packed up Benji, Nino and taunted Cris awake at 8am with _“Atleast tell me Mr Big-Shot Ballon d’or has a private jet?”_

Two hours later, Cris and Kun arrived outside that same dinky little mess of a house in Rosario where Cris had barged in on Leo nearly three years ago. Kun walked through the gates followed by the kids, who had bonded a little too effectively on the plane ride. Enough to completely forget to ask where they were going or why they were there. Neither Nino nor Benjamin had stopped talking nonstop for even a full minute during the 21 hour flight.

The door opened slowly once Kun rung the bell and Cris’ gaze immediately collided with Leo’s. Cris couldn't hold back his tears or his relieved sobs. It was a charged moment - instant and electric and given the month apart, Cristiano was even a little desperate in how quickly he pushed Kun to the side and grabbed Leo by the collar dragging the smaller man into a deep, all-promising kiss.

Leo struggled against him at first, protesting and pushing _“No, you can’t. You can't just think you can walk in and I’ll…I don’t…I can’t…Please Cris...don't...I can't”_ he kept trying to work a word in between the Portuguese's onslaught and rabid kisses but Cristiano could feel his resolve breaking as his body melded itself into his and his hands unclenched themselves from fists to latch on to the back of Cris’ neck.

The kiss seemed to last forever until they both heard Kun cough not-too-subtly. _“Guy’s, any chance we can take this PG program in house. I think our boys have been scarred for life thank-you-very-much,”_ Kun mumbled sourly. Cristiano turned around to find Benjamin Aguero and Nino staring at them, two sets of eyes nearly popping out of their sockets. Leo laughed and bent down to hug both boys and Cris swiftly moved into the house picking up Thiago, who had come running in his direction launching himself at his leg.

A few minutes later after the commotion had settled, Cris and Leo moved away from the others towards the kitchen. _“Cris, I just…I don’t know how we…”_ Leo stuttered, his hands shaking. Running a nervous hand through his almost full-grown beard. Cristiano looked closer at the dark circles under his even darker eyes and his dishevelled mop of hair.

_“Shhhhhh. I know. It was all my fault Leo. I know how to be loved. I’ve always known how to take but not really how to give. But I love you more than anything in this world, Mijo. And I know that we can do this. We just need to talk to each other. And no more of this shuttling around shit. We’ll work out a way to live together because we can’t have a family or make a marriage work this way. We’ll talk to the teams about it but I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want the boys to grow up together. Remember that first morning after we’d been together? I want everything that I ran away from then. I won’t settle for anything less,”_ Cris smiled down at Leo but frowned slightly when the latter didn’t respond.

_“What?”_

“Marriage. You said Marriage, Cris,” Leo whispered, fearful it had been a slip of tongue in the midst of his heated tirade.

_“Yeah. I meant it too,”_ he flashed his patented grin and Leo found himself blushing.

_“Don’t you think you ought to ask me first,”_ Leo smirked up at him, now turning a perfect shade of salmon.

“ _I thought about that but then I figured it doesn’t really matter either way. I mean, you could either say ‘yes’ in which case I win. Or you could say ‘No’, in which case I would stalk you again till you said yes and I would still win. I mean, historically, you have a rather unsuccessful track record of avoiding me long-term,”_ Cris responded jokingly but his voice cracked a little, overcome with emotion.

_“You do know that not everything is about winning, Cris?”_ Leo smiled.

_“Speak for yourself. Between us it is. It keeps us going and I intend to let it keep doing that. To keep going. Okay?”_ Cris countered.

_“Okay.”_ Leo answered.

_“Okay…”_ the both promised.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and sending in all your lovely comments.

It was the final minutes of the match. Another World Cup final against Germany but everything was different in 2018. For one thing, no one could still say that Messi needed to ‘find himself’ or any of that shit anymore. He was found and out, he and Cris had already carved whatever legacy they were owed into the minds and hearts of everyone that ever loved the game. Leo knew that this would just be the icing. A remnant of a dream finally carved into reality.

Argentina had definitely been the better team, there had been no missed chances this time and right up to overtime they were still charging forward. There hadn’t been a single goal up to now when suddenly Leo spotted Kun charging towards him from the left wing, the ball tumbling a few feet ahead of him at lightening speed. Leo weaved his way in to prepare for a pass but he had a feeling this could just be Kun’s strike from a distance. He knew Kun could make this. He had done it a million times but Leo spotted Kun suddenly change feet on the ball, skipping over it for a pass that was their hallmark. It was the exact same pass he had made to Leo in their first practice all those years ago on a lonely pitch in Holland and he had never once looked up to see where Leo was - just instinctively trusting him to be where he needed him to be while Kun feinted defenders in front of him.

Leo felt rather than saw the ball land at his feet and he kicked it without looking up as he had a million times before.

The whistle blew a few seconds later and Leo still didn’t have the courage to look up and see if the ball hand landed in the net. He stared resolutely at his feet, hearing a deafening silence echo in his ears. Suddenly the silence was replaced by the swell of a familiar sound. A sound he heard countless times before but never while he was wearing these colours.

Never in Albiceste.

Leo looked up to see thousands of people screaming _**‘Messi. Messi. Messi’**_ waving their hands up and down in the air, creating their own surreal sky in the stands, blue and white. He didn’t know how to process any of it so Leo simply collapsed onto the ground his legs suddenly giving way, kneeling in prayer, tears pouring unchecked from his eyes. That was when he felt Kun rush into his arms, kissing his face and whispering _"I knew you’d do it."_

 _“You did it,”_ Leo whispered back over the deafening silence as the rest of the team jumped on top of them in a human pyramid of tears and joy and overwhelming perfection.

By the time Leo made it up, he spotted hundreds of people breaking the barriers and running on to the pitch from all sides. And he wasn’t even a little scared. His heart swelled as he lost count of the how many people were pulling and pushing him. Kissing his face and mushing his hair. Kun dragged him a little to the side, kissed his cheek and Angel pointed towards the overhead screen as the World Cup theme song and the Argentinian National Anthem swelled over every voice in the stadium. The screen showed a sight that flooded his heart with so much feeling he found himself bending over and grabbing his knees at the weight of it. Still in tears. Cris was shown running down from the stands, both his hands clutching one of their sons’. Nino and Thiago were dressed in Albiceste colours. His family made their way into the crowd and suddenly the boys were running towards him and launching themselves into his arms, all the while Cris just stood and watched with the biggest smile on his face.

When Leo finally stood, both his boys still clinging to his waist, Cris just pulled his face towards him with both hands and kissed him as if their lives depended on it. Foreheads joined together in unison laughing hysterically. The video screens zoomed in on the kiss and the crowd went … WILD.

 

Later on Leo barely remembered shaking hands with the German team, exchanging shirts, partying. He remembered snippets of a moment he had waited his entire life for. He remembered hugging Mache, his touchstone and _**his**_ captain. No matter what anyone ever said, there was never any Albiceste without Mache. Leo had said before the match that he was the ‘left foot of the team. Kun it’s right foot, Angel it’s head and Mache it’s heart’. Mache kissed him on his forehead and said _“You did it boludo. You did it for all of us,”_ and Leo immediately corrected him, _“We did it and I did only ever did anything because you were behind me. Don’t you get it Mache? If I ever did anything for Barca or Argentina it was because I never had to look back. I knew I was covered. I could run ahead because you had my back. I love you.”_ Mache cried. And Leo finally felt as if he’d begun to repay some of the debt he owed this man.

He remembered Angel and Pipita lifting him up in the air and throwing him. He remembered Zaba taking off his shirt and dancing abominably in front of the crowd. He remembered countless children rushing at him with such force he was knocked to the ground but the hugs felt like fuel. And then he remembered Kun. For once silent and just smiling softly at him from a few feet away watching everything. That’s who Kun was, always watching over him. Leo didn’t know what to say to Kun at that moment. What could he say to Kun? Their goal had won them that one cup they had dreamed of together in that first room they shared 15 plus years ago.

Leo looked at Cris and noticed that he was also staring at Kun. He felt an odd pull as Cris dragged him towards where Kun was standing hugging Benji in his arms after Gia had kissed his cheek and walked away. Surprisingly it was Cris who moved to hug him first. He lifted Benji in his arms and then kissed Kun on his forehead and hugged him tight. The boys were all laughing together as Cris pushed Kun towards Leo. And before Leo knew what he was doing he launched himself into his best friend’s arms and kissed him square on the mouth. It surprised all three of them and yet…somehow, it didn’t.

 

 

After the interviews were over and the party was over, Leo crept in late to his hotel room that night. Cris was curled around Thiago in sleep and Nino was splayed out occupying most of the bed as he had a habit of doing. Leo took off his clothes and put on his pajama pants in silence. He squished himself into the sheets behind Cris and kissed his neck. Cris stirred slightly and leaned his head back for a proper kiss, still half asleep.

 _“How was it?”_ he whispered.

 _“Perfect. You should have come. The guys said so,”_ Leo answered.

 _“No my love. This is your moment. I just share it with you… and I’m proud to,”_ Cris kissed Leo in turn.

 _“How were the kids?”_ Leo asked.

 _“Finally exhausted. Benji only just left to sleep in his room a couple of hours ago. They were so damned hyper we were all jumping on the beds for about half an hour. I hit my head,”_ Cris said snarkily.

Leo giggled and leaned over to kiss his boys. _“I’ve never been this happy Cris. I feel like we have everything. Too much of everything, in this moment. It’s sort of scary,”_ Leo whispered.

 _“I know what you mean. But don’t worry we have a Classico in a month. Time to lose a little, my darling,”_ Cris smiled.

 _“You wish,”_ Leo stuck his tongue out.

 _“Oh, and I decided something today after the boys were driving me crazy,”_ Cris whispered.

 _“Yeah I know, I know. We need to work on setting ground rules. We need to…,”_ Leo sighed in faux exasperation.

 

 _“I want a girl,”_ Cris said.


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Told from Thiago's point of view.

Thiago had always hated Classico’s. All it meant was that his dad’s would fight. He no longer even cared who won. In fact, he and Nino had decided that they would prefer if every Classico was a draw.  
Papi always asked them who they were rooting for but Abba never did. They never knew what to say and they both had insisted they wouldn’t wear Barca or Madrid shirts. Nino had once declared at the breakfast table that he thought his favourite team in La Liga might be Athletico. Both Abba and Papi had choked on their cereal when they heard that.

It had become a weird sort of ritual – the evening after a Classico was basically a coping mechanism. Their sister Celia, named after Thiago’s Great Grandmother, was too young to understand any of it yet. In fact, now that he thought about it, Celia was too young for most things. All she did was cry and sleep and eat and poop and look cute. It was annoying sometimes. Also, Papi insisted on covering every inch of her room in pink! Thiago hated going in there.

Nino, on the other hand, was his favourite person in the whole world. His brother was never ashamed of holding his hand or showing him new things even though he was older. Most older brothers at school completely ignored their younger brothers but Nino even let Thiago sit with him at lunch sometimes, he would help Thiago with his lunch and always made sure no one picked on him. Sometimes Thiago was just happy his dad’s got married because it meant he found Nino.

Whenever Abba and Papi would fight, Thiago would sneak into Nino’s room and climb into bed with him. Nino would hug him and tell him stories and they both would pretend they couldn’t hear Papi shouting at the top of his lungs. This time was scarier. It was oddly quiet.

Thiago crept into Nino’s room to find him sitting in bed wide awake.  
_“I can’t hear anything,”_ Thiago said nervously.  
_“I know. I was wondering the same thing. But I think it will be okay Titi,”_ Nino whispered as Thiago clambered in beside him.

Barcelona had won, 5 to 2. Abba had scored a hatrick and both Nino and Thiago knew that Classico’s were always worse when Abba won. When Papi won, Abba would just get sort of quiet but no one really screamed or shouted or anything. Papi would brag a little, kiss them all and go out with the team to celebrate and Abba would stay home a little sad. But Nino and he would always manage to cheer him up eventually. Abba would always cook lots of food, usually more than they could eat but they would try everything as they helped him in the kitchen; then they played videogames and sometimes watched a movie. Abba would insist on playing with Legos and blocks now, so Celia could join in. Sometimes the four of them just played hide and seek. Eventually Abba would start laughing and both Nino and he would hug him as tight as they could. Abba always wanted them to sleep with him after he lost a classico so the four of them would cuddle together in bed and watch a cartoon until they fell asleep.  
But it was completely different if Papi lost. Papi would growl and yell and sometimes even make fun of Abba. Abba would usually leave in a huff and Papi would get angry if Abba celebrated with Uncle Ney. It always scared them and Thiago and Nino would wait until the next morning when Abba would make breakfast while Papi sulked over the newspapers, which Abba kept trying to get him not to read. Eventually they would kiss and make up but Thiago felt safe in saying that it would be better for everyone when Classico’s were over for good.

This time the silence was what was scaring them. Neither Abba nor Papi spoke a word during their drive home and then Abba left quietly with Uncle Gerry.

~

After the last Classico, Leo and Cris had made a deal. Neither of them would speak to the other until the next morning because Cris knew he couldn’t deal with it. He was always abominable at losing. He had to admit that while Leo dealt with it much more gracefully, he always went overboard. It hurt the kids and Leo had insisted that if he won they would just agree not to talk until the next day. Leo would go out with the team and then sleep in the guest room or the couch in the living room.

The deal was working out so far, in that, they hadn’t fought but somehow it was worse. Having set rules about not speaking to his husband scared him and Cris kept hoping that Leo would come in and lie next to him in bed. He had returned home from the party over an hour ago and Cris admitted it had been a very short outing…only 2 hours. He had heard him come in and move around downstairs. His entire body was tightly wound waiting. But Leo didn’t come in to their room once. Cris couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t have picked a fight with him. Afterall Leo had also scored a hatrick and that stung. But this was…so much worse. Quiet and bitter and oh-so-fucking mature. Cris had been waiting for his husband to join him in bed for nearly 2 hours and he couldn’t sleep a wink knowing that Leo was in the house and voluntarily not next to him. A part of his ego had kept him in place, lying in bed. His anger escalating as he pictured Leo casually sleeping after his bloody win, while he sulked in bed. Even though he knew it was ridiculous and that he was ten times worse when Leo lost it still stung. Deep down Cris knew that he had the maturity of an 8 year old when it came to stuff like this and he expected people to just deal with that.

Suddenly it got to be too much.

Cris stomped his way out of bed and down the stairs to find Leo fast asleep drowning in blankets on their massive L-shaped couch. Cris jostled him awake roughly.  
_“Huh, what…Cris?”_ Leo squinted up at him.  
_“Move over,”_ Cris ground out between clenched teeth.  
_“What?”_ Leo was still half-asleep and more than a little dazed.  
_“M-o-v-e    O-v-e-r,”_ Cris bit out each syllable.  
_“But I thought we agreed…”_ Leo whispered.  
_“No, YOU agreed. I’m sorry I’m a dick about these things and I get why you did it but this is just not going to work. We are not going to be in the same house sleeping in separate beds. I won’t have it. I don’t care if we yell or scream or if you throw a bloody vase at my head but we sleep in the same bed. And if you seem to prefer the couch, then fine. So, for the last time - Move over”_ Cris bit out in a huff.  
Leo just stared at his husband a little stunned before shifting a little to make room behind him. Cris climbed into the blankets and practically moulded himself around the smaller man. Lodging his head firmly in the crook of Leo’s neck.

 _“I missed you,”_ he whispered into Leo’s ear.  
_“I was only gone two hours, Cris,”_ Leo laughed softly.  
_“No. You were gone fours hours. Two at the party and two in this damned couch. And I bet you didn’t think of me once. You just fell asleep,”_ Cris whined.  
_“I guess that means I don’t love you, huh?”_ Leo smirked.  
_“Is that supposed to be funny?”_ Cris’ voice darkened suddenly.  
Leo sighed in exasperation and turned around in the tight embrace to face his ridiculous husband. “You’re funny. I was sleeping because I was tired and stop being so silly,” he said.  
_“I’m glad I amuse you,”_ Cris huffed angrily _“How was the party?”_  
_“No.”_ Leo said.  
“ _What does that mean?”_ Cris countered.  
_“It means we are not going to talk about the party and I am not letting you pick a fight. You’re right about not sleeping apart but if you don’t behave yourself I will kick you out of this oh-so-glorious couch this instant. So, No,”_ Leo said pointedly.  
“ _But I never behave myself,”_ Cris grinned into his forehead.  
_“I know. But usually I enjoy your misbehaviour,”_ Leo said softly into his neck. Making a point to jut his burgeoning erection against Cris’ crotch to change the conversation.  
_“You know I was thinking,”_ Cris murmured into Leo’s ear.  
_“That's never a good sign. What were you thinking?”_ Leo whispered.  
_“Haha. Very funny. I was thinking...We never really christened this couch,”_ Cris smiled, tiptoeing his fingers down his husband's abdomen and sliding his hand into the waistband of Leo’s flannel pajamas.

 

~

 

After being unnerved by the silence for too long, Thiago and Nino found themselves leaving their room and tiptoeing down the hallway to check on their parents. Nino grabbed Thiago’s hand and they both opened the door to their dads’ room only to find it empty.  
They looked at each other nervously.  
_“Where did they go? They didn’t leave us did they?”_ Thiago sobbed out softly, scared beyond belief.  
“Of _course not Titi. Lets check downstairs,”_ Nino whispered and switched on the hallway light to the stairs.

 

~  
_“Oh shit,”_ Leo whispered sensing the light switch on. _“Cris, I think the boys are up. Stop,”_ he added hastily.  
Cris groaned in frustration and removed his hand from Leo’s crotch as they both suddenly pretended to be sleep. As they heard the boys creep down the stairs and towards the couch, they both desperately tried to calm their heavy breathing.

 _“Why are they sleeping here?”_ Thiago asked his older brother.  
_“I don’t know. But at least they’re not fighting,”_ Nino responded and Cris felt his entire body tense with profound regret. Leo was right, he needed to behave better for his boys. Suddenly he turned around and looked squarely into their surprised faces.  
_“What are you two doing out of bed?”_ he asked softly.  
_“Sorry Papi but we were scared you’d left us,”_ Thiago whispered, his lower lip trembling. In that moment he looked so much like Leo, Cris felt his heart swell.  
_“Where would we go without you, mijo?”_ Leo asked from behind Cris on the couch.  
_“I don’t know. But it was so quiet,”_ Nino whispered nervously.  
_“That’s just because I’ve finally taught Papi to behave and act like a grown up,”_ Leo laughed and Cris scoffed.  
_“Why are we sleeping on the couch?”_ Thiago asked.  
_“What do you mean ‘We’ little man?”_ Cris asked, one eyebrow raised.  
_“I want to sleep with you tonight,”_ Thiago answered stubbornly, his eyes determined and lower lip jutting out in his 'brooking no argument' expression.  
_“Don't I have a say in this?”_ Cris asked.  
_“No,”_ Nino and Leo answered in unison.  
The boys climbed in to the already crowded pile of blankets and people on the couch and squirmed their way around their fathers. Nino, ever the planner, moaned _“There’s not enough room.”_  
_“There’s always enough room,”_ Cris answered and he and Leo fell asleep curled around their sons.

The boys squirmed on the crowded couch at several points one or both of them smacked their dads in the face in their sleep or kicked out. And yet, it was by far the best night’s sleep any of them had ever gotten.

  
Until the next morning when they all awoke to Celia’s loud cries and Cris pointedly turned to look at a groaning Leo, saying _“Your turn, darling.”_


End file.
